
Class _ ru,<^b^ 5 

Book 3^^__ 

Copyright N"* 

coPYKiGirr DEPosrr 



SLINGS 

— AND — 

ARROWS 

Calcs^ Sketches and Terses^ 
6ravc and Gay 

By GEORGE B^ PERRY 

Author of " Corporal Bruce,'" "■Uncle Peter's Trust,''' "■The I'oyage 
of the Boadicea," " A'iii Against A'in," Etc. 



FIRST SERIES 

BOSTON— 1901 



THE DUNSCOMBE PUBLISHING CO 

ROOM 65 

GLOBE BUILDING BOSTON 



THE LIBRARY OF 

CONGRESS. 
Two Copies RecEtvEO 

MAY. 29 1901 

CoPyRIQMT ENTRY 

CLASS^ XXc. N». 

SffS 

COPY B. 






Copyright 

1901 

George B. Perry 



•••••• • ••• 

• • • ••• •••• ••••• 



foreword. 



Lacks there a word of preface brief? 

This would I say to all who read: 

I deem he has not writ in vain, 

If haply he may serve your need. 

Oh ye who walk the lonely vale 

And list (how eager!) for the sound 

Of footsteps vanished in the mist, 

I pray that in this book be found 

Some comfort for your yearning hearts; 

Ah! once he trod where ye have trod 

And only dimly knew that Death 

Is but the messenger of God. 

And ye who, flushed with hope and youth, 

Carol through all the blossoming clays 

He hopes to light your eyes with mirth, 

And win your light-accorded praise. 

He weaves the fantasy and song. 

The rippling laugh, the bitter moan, 

Into one weft, nor may you guess 

How dear to him each thought has grown. 

It seems to me his life is writ 

In many a lightly uttered phrase, 

So ask I, grateful for the past, 

God's peace be his these latter days; 

God's peace be yours. May Love and Hope 

Sunfleck your paths through all the yearSj 

And gleam from out a cloudless sky 

Until the eternal light appears. 

Josephine D. Perry. 
So. Boston, April 21, 1901. 



J'er/iaps if may turn out a so/ig- 
J^erhaps turn out a srn/ion. 



Tliuiiks are dui' to tlio managptnenl of The 
Boston Glolic for pcnuission to roprint sketches, 
.111(1 for oilier kindly favors. 



♦Contents . 

A Foreword, by Josephine D. Perry 

"Julius Caesar" Revised i 

Ulysses S. Grant I3 

A Belated Forefather I5 

Garibaldi Zl 

The Fatal Mistake 4i 

Evolution of the Proofreader 49 

Natural History of the Compositor 58 

The Household Queen 66 

A White Lie; Story of Gettysburg 12 

'Twas Ever Thus 81 

A Cold Snap 82 

"The Retrojection of Didymus Jones" 83 ' 

Lasting Love 102 

"Squaring the Account" 103 

The Colors at Isandlhwana 112 

A Midnight Reverie ii5 

The British Dead n? 

The Mother-in-Law 119 

Song of the Gloucester "Banker" 124 

The Delayed Triumph 125 

Statif Colonels 127 

Longfellow 131 

George H. Patch i34 

The Mother's Hand i35 



CONTENTS— Continued. 

REPRINTS FROM "THE MALDEN HEADLIGHT. 

Discovery of the Maiden River 139 

Caesar at Revere Beach 149 

Roman Occupation of Maiden 151 

The Delayed Epic 157 

Ode to Maiden 160 

A Listening World 162 

Piratic.1l Mate of the Betsy Jane 164 

An Emergency Lecture 169 

Ye Ballade of Jones the Conductaire 171 

The Stevi'ard of the Singapore 175 

Color Bearer at Fredericksburg 177 

A Russian War Hymn 180 

The Mutiny on the Sairey Ann 181 

Man's Inhumanity to Man 186 

Love and Art 187 



The Black Watch 190 

Hope of the Fathers, the Pride of the Sons 191 

1886 196 

"The Queen, God Bless Her!" 199 

Marcia Green's Mistake 201 

Mamma's Story 210 

"He Opens and He Shuts His Hand" 213 

"With Tear-Dimmed Eyes" 215 

Mors Janua Vitae 217 

How the Christmas Anthem Was Sung 218 

The Night Cometh 220 

"Who Follows?" 221 

Cypress and Laurel 222 

An Epilogue 223 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



" jfuUus Caesar." 



r Chapter of a Revised Shahespeare — H Boston 
Newspaper Row. 



It was truly remarked in the "Boston Globe" re- 
cently that admirers of Shakespeare are wont to assert 
that in his works are found references to trades, profes- 
sions, inventions, etc., of supposedly more recent 
origin. In illustration of this claim, it was said that 
journalists and interviewers were common in Rome, 
Caesar asking (Act i. Sec. 2), "who is it in the press 
that calls on me?" 

The mass of internal evidence in the same play 
("Julius Caesar'') which goes to support the claim that 
journalists and interviewers, and in fact all the miseries 
and glories supposed to be peculiar to modern journal- 
ists and journalism, were well known, is absolutely 
overpowering. 

From even a superficial study of this remarkable 
play, it is apparent that Caesar and Antony, Brutus, 
Cassius & Co., were proprietors, editors and writers 
respectively, on rival sheets, and that in fact the trag- 
edy is not so much a record of a rather high-toned 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

([uarrel amonq- opposing politicians as between active 
writers and rival managers of opposing party organs. 
The evidence on this point is so overwhelming that 
but for the diffidence which is one of our besetting sins, 
we should doubt the common evidence of Mr. Shakes- 
peare's death, and insist that he wrote his play as a 
satire on the journalism of the present day, npt even 
omitting certain political allusions and campaign cries 
of absolutely recent date. But as we are not discuss- 
ing the question of who wrote Shakespeare, it is suf- 
ficient to pass by this fruitful field of investigation, and 
lay down the facts which we propose to demonstrate 
to the admirers and students of the bard, who ex- 
hibits in this remarkable tragedy more than ever that 
his genius was immortal, and that "he was not for an 
age, but for all time." 

"First, then, Caesar was the proprietor of a 
paper named "The Palm," in the conduct of which he 
was occasionally assisted by Mark Antony, a sort of 
all-round, many-sided Boliemian journalist; Brutus 
was managing editor of "The Majestic World," and 
also interested in "The Capitol," on both of which 
papers Caius Cassius was an editorial writer. Casca 
appears to have been a capitalist, who invested his 
money impartially in the rival sheets, though he, as 
will be seen, grinds all the cash he can out of Caesar's 
paper, while he assists "The World" and "Capitol" by 
his persevering habit of amateur reporting. His 
malevolent or sarcastic disposition renders him an 
unsafe writer, and the news which he industriously 
gathers has to be separated bv the editors from the 
irrelevant mass of opinions and criticisms with which 
no professional reporter would have burdened them. 
The bitter rivalry between the papers culminates in 
the cutting up of Caesar by his rivals; the management 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

of "The World" by Cassius, in the temporary absence 
of Brutus, causes a row in the camp; Cassius refuses 
at first to be interviewed by Brutus' reporter on a 
matter of public importance; but is finally reached by 
the same and talked to death; the successful inter- 
viewer, who possessed a more tender conscience than 
his modern prototype, flies the country, so that he 
shall not be interviewed in turn. 

Mark Antony and Octavius start a rival sheet at a 
time when Brutus, in an exciting campaign, writes 
bloody-shirt editorials and loses his right-hand man, 
Cassius; a fearful error creeps into "Tlie World," 
which results in the proof-reader, Titinius, being be- 
rated bv the foreman, Messala, and the compositor 
being "fired;" the people "pi" the forms of "The 
World;'' the accumulation of misfortunes drives 
Brutus to suicide, and in a spirit of true journalistic 
fraternity Mark Antony devotes a double-leaded 
editorial to an obituary complimentary of the deceased. 
There are in the play the usual appointments of a well- 
regulated newspaper: Poets, with excitable citizens 
readv at hand to pitch them over the back stairs; com- 
positors, proof-readers, amateur reporters, and the 
inevitable ward politicians, who are always on hand to 
fill the managing editor's sanctum. The cast: 

J. Caesar, publisher of "The Palm;" political rival of Brutus. 
Mark Antony, a Bohemian journalist, paid on space. 
Caius Cassius, an editorial writer, but no business man. 
Marcus Brutus, managing editor of "The Majestic World." 
Casca, a surly capitalist, and an amateur reporter. 
Lucius, Pindarus and Messenger (no first names), reporters. 
Portia (Brutus' wife), assistant managing editor. 
Cinna, a poet, who wrote poems for the Capitol. 
Foreman of composing-room. Titinius, proof-reader. 
Compositors, spring-ode poets, citizens, etc., ad lib. 

3 



SLINGS AND ARkOlVS 

We now i)r()cee(l to demonstrate these facts, and to 
throw stich a flood of light on journahsni in ancient 
Rome as would astonish Niehuhr himself. Caesar, 
who, like many of his Boston prototypes, is a military 
man, publishes his Commentaries and despatches re- 
latine^ to the war from which he has returned in 
triumph, in his own paper. l)efore setting out to re- 
ceive the applause of his fellow-citizens. Colonel 
Caesar instructs his foreman to hurry out the pa])er 
with the detailed report, saying Act i.. Scene 2, "Set 
on; and leave no ceremony out." Caesar's injunction 
is proof positive that he was a model manager of a 
paper, as never one yet existed who did not expect a 
foreman to leave "nothing out,'' and get twelve col- 
umns of matter into nine of space. But this sub- 
ordinate, who appears to have been a model foreman, 
cheerfully complies, observing, 

I shall remember; 
When C?esar says. Do this, it is performed. 

Such good discipline results in the a])pearance of 
"The Palm" with the big exclusive of Caesar's cam- 
paign and victories. This maddens Cassius, who, 
with his usual impetuosity, berates Brutus for not 
getting as mad as himself over the fact that their paper 
is so badly "left." He complains of evident neglect, 
which has prevented his usual vigorous editorials: 

J-)y means whereof this breast of mine hath buried 
Thoughts of great vahie, worthy cogitations. 

One of these cogitations appears to have been the 
story w'hich was immediately published, thus showing 
that "The ^Majestic World" of ancient Rome used to 
run stories like the "Boston Globe" of to-day. Cas- 
sius' story is called "Honor," he remarking that 

4 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 




rv^-f^u< 



•Set on; and leave no ceremony out! 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"Honor is the subject of my story," and he shows a 
synopsis of it to Brutus. But above all else in this 
natural conference between a managing editor and his 
associate rises the overwhelming fact that Caesar has 
beaten them on a big exclusive, and Cassius, becom- 
ing bitterly personal in his remarks, says of the suc- 
cessful newspaper general: 

Ye gods, it doth amaze me 
A man of such a feeble temper should 
So get the start of '"The Majestic World" 
And bear "The Palm" alone. 

Casca might have been responsible for this, for 
though we are not acquainted with all the secrets of 
the business management of "The ^Majestic World," 
Cassius suggests that Casca is to blame; perhaps be- 
cause he would not pay the expenses of a war cor- 
respondent, for the campaign in Gaul, thus tying the 
hands of the editor: 

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars. 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 

We don't desire to do Casca wrong, as circum- 
stances prevent his answering any charges. We hasten 
rather to do him justice, by suggesting that Brutus, 
who appears to have been a man of means, might have 
purchased a controlling interest in the stock and 
ceased to be an underling. That Brutus was stingy is 
plain, for we shall soon find him girding at Cassius 
because he could not get some money from him — 
another proof, by the way, that Cassius was an editor 
— and this, too, at a time when the campaign had fairly 
opened and bloody-shirt editorials w^ere at a premium. 
Still more remarkable proof that Cassius was an 

6 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

editorial writer (paid on space, probably) is given by 
Caesar himself, who says: 

Yond' Cassius hath a lean and hungry look, 
. . . Would he were fatter. 

From which, and the following remarks, it is ob.- 
vious that Csesar would have liked to pay the impe- 
cunious hungry writer a better salary on "The Palm," 
if circumstances allowed, as he (Caesar) had the high- 
est regard for his abilities: 

He reads much; 
He is a great observer, and he looks 
Quite through the deeds of men. 

In this same scene Casca is introduced as an 
amateur reporter, and he gives a detailed account of 
the scene at the presentation of the crown to Caesar. 
Brutus and Cassius depart, the former to get the re- 
port put in type, at Casca's suggestion: 

Thy honorable metal may be wrought 
From that it is disposed. 

An inflated style of suggesting that the matter be 
put in type, but characteristic of "journalists." 

Cassius departs with the intention of writing 
editorials "prominently mentioning" Brutus as chair- 
man of the "bloody-shirt" convention, and circulating 
them as campaign documents: 

Writings all tending to the great opinion 

Tliat Rome holds of his name, wherein obscurely 

Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at. 

And after this, let Qissar set him sure 

For we will shake him or worse days endure. 

Cassius gets a number of ward politicians and a 
poet to distribute advance proofs of this. A curious 

7 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

bit of dead-headism is here exhibited. Cinna, the poet, 
distributes some of these documents, and is promised 
a pass to Pompey's Tlieatre for his work : 

Cinna. — .... Well, I will hie. 

And so bestow the papers as you bade me. 
Casca. — That done, repair to Pompey's Theatre. 

In Act ii., Iirutus, in his sttidy, receives one of the 
campaign documents and prepares to write it up. The 
writing of Cassius is "bony,'' and Brtitus "pads'' it 
into shape; "Thus must I piece it out." The cohimns 
of "The Majestic World" were evidently not crowded. 
In the same act he receives a deputation of ward politi- 
cians and poets, and when the proposition to "cut and 
slash" Caesar is made Brutus consents. Mark Antony, 
who evidently has sent in a special of some kind, seems 
to have won favor from Bruttis, who directs his editor- 
ial assistants not to "butcher" Antony's copy, only cut 
it judiciously: "Let us be sacrificers, and not butchers. 
Caius"' (an axiom which many alleged editors should 
paste in their hats). Artemidorus, one of Caesar's re- 
porters, gets scent of the caucus in Brutus's study and 
gives the thing away. But Brutus, called away on 
business, leaves Mrs. Portia Brutus in charge of his 
paper, and she at once dispatches a reporter (Lucius) 
to the Senate house, Act ii.. Scene 4: 

I pr'ythee, boy, run to the senate-house. 
And take good note what Ciesar doth. 

Act iii. discovers Caesar pestered by a crowd of 
contributors, and afterward assailed by his critics, who 
cut him up badly. They are so overjoyed at their suc- 
cess that Metellus Cimber talks of "standing some- 
thing," till Brutus, who appears ridiculously virtuous, 

8 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

if not a blue-ribbon man, says: "Talk not of stand- 
ing." As is well known, Mark Antony here appears, 
and at once takes up the management of Caesar's af- 
fairs. The efifect of the death of Caesar is an increased 
circulation of "The Majestic World," so great that 
Mad< Antony starts out to see 

How the people take 

The cruel issue of these bloody men. 

In his few remarks on assuming the editorial chair 
of the deceased Colonel Caesar's paper, Mr. Antony 
hints at the character of Casca, the capitalist, and sug- 
gests that Julius Caesar had to pay through the nose 
for the means of publishing "The Palm." Antony 
gives the figure to the people, saying: "See what a 
rent the envious Casca made,"" though the per cent, 
thus gained on capital invested is not stated. 

The result of Mark Antony's oration is that the 
people want to go and demolish the office of "The 
W^orld,'' a Ward 4 citizen being especially anxious to 
"pi"" the "forms,"" or, as he inaccurately expressed it, 
"pluck down forms." One g"Ood thing they do is to 
kill the poet Cinna, who lived by "The Capitol,'"" "for 
his bad verses." No one but a master like Shakespeare 
could have anticipated a crowd of Boston's best men 
killing a bad poet. 

The celebrated quarrel between Brutus and Cas- 
sius is only clear to the reader when their business re- 
lations are considered. Cassius has a grudge against 
Brutus because he rejected his editorials on Lucius 
Pella, and won't lend him a few dollars, while Brutus, 
on the other hand, charges Cassius with inserting 
some vile advertisement in the paper while left in tem- 
porary charge. Besides, it does not seem improbable 
that the impecimious Cassius cared more for money 

9 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

than the character of the "ad.,"' for Brutus indig-nantly 
repudiates his action: 

Shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes 
And sell the mighty space of our large honors 
For such vile trash? 

Cassius also complains of being interviewed. "All 
his faults observed, set in a note-book." It is also a 
wonderful proof of the great dramatist's instinct that 
even this serious row between the editorial staff is in- 
terrupted by the ever-fresh poets, which provokes Cas- 
sius to sour on one of them: "How vilely doth this 
cynic rhyme!'' Vile, indeed, must have been the pro- 
ductions of these po€ts, when, even in such a scarcity 
of copy as wrings from Brutus subsequently the con- 
fession that "The people grudge us contributions," 
and that Antony by their means "shall make a fuller 
number up," he is yet bound to refuse their ofiferings. 

Octavius joins Mark Antony in his newspaper 
venture, and is bent on having some settlement of old 
scores with Brutus & Co. It is here in the first scene 
we get an idea that Brutus was a stalwart Republican 
of the bloody-shirt stripe, and as bad a penman as 
Horace Greeley himself. Messenger, Antony's re- 
porter, announces the fact of a "bloody-shirt*' editorial, 
saying the "bloody sign of battle is hung out," show- 
ing on what basis the Philippi campaign was con- 
ducted, while Antony, Octavius and Brutus "go for" 
each other in a wordy war. Brutus' bad writing is as- 
sailed by Antony: "In your bad strokes, Brutus, you 
give good words," a very mild rebuke, when it is con- 
sidered that Brutus has contemptuously referred to 
Caesar's paper, and in language suggestive of Denis 
Kearney's "slimy sheet" diatribes: "It is the bright 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

clay brings forth the Adder/^ (Act ii., Scene i.) Brntus 
had also made the most of Caesar's trouble, for he pub- 
lished it in "The Capitol" also (Act iii., Scene 2): 
"The question of his death is enrolled in 'The Capi- 
tol.' " 

Cassius' reluctance to be interviewed is shown in 
Act iv., Scene i, when Lucillius returned to Brutus 
without having accomplished anything for the paper, 
saying that Cassius received him 

With courtesy and with respect enough, 
But not with such familiar instance, 
Nor with such free and friendly conference 
As he hath used of old. 

How' sensible Cassius was in declining to be in- 
terviewed can be seen by referring to Act v., w'here 
Pindarus at last gets him to talk, and Cassius meets 
his death at the hands of his interviewer. The w'retched 
reporter, overwhelmed by remorse, "skips the town," 
saying, 

Far from this country Pindarus shall run, 
Where never Romans shall take note of him. 

The troubles of Brutus & Co. seem to increase. 
The foreman discovers a big error, and "goes for" the 
proof-reader in rather liigh-flown terms: 

Mistrust of good success hath done this deed. 

O hateful error, Melancholy's child. 

Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men 

The things that are not? O error, soon conceived, 

Thou never com'st unto a happy birth. 

But kill'st the mother that engendered thee. 

This is a specimen of the high-toned balderdash 
which Shakespeare occasionally uses to wrap up in 
great mystery a commonplace matter. Looked at 

II 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

in a common-sense light, some compositor, nick- 
named Melancholy, made a bad error, and the last 
line, "Kill'st the mother that engendered thee," is 
simply a ranting way of saying that the type-setter 
was discharged. In modern language it would read, 
"John Smith was fired." 

Other evidences of the real plot of "Julius Caesar" 
could be adduced, but the above is sufficient to show 
that there was a marvellously susjiicious resemblance 
between the journalism of ancient Rome and the mod- 
ern Athens, and that the many-sided character of 
Shakespeare's writings has received a fresh — very fresh 
— illustration. It is safe to say that no one ever discov- 
ered these points of Roman journalism before. It is 
equally safe to say that no other Shakespearian critic 
will attempt it again. But, in the writings of Shake- 
speare other than "Julius Caesar" many instances are 
given of his views on modern journalism. Falstafif, 
the original "Fat Contributor,"' in a fit of remorse, 
admits that he has "misused the King's press dam- 
nably," but perhaps not worse than the present writer 
has misused Shakespeare. 






SLINGS AND ARROWS 



aiysscs 8. 6rant. 



(From the Boston Daily Globe, July 23, 1885.) 

Why should we weep for him who ever Hves, 
Whose name shall ever breathe of lofty deeds. 
Whene'er the times shall come, as come they will, 

That try each heart; 
When, bowing "neath the cross of some great trust, 
The nation moves, thorn-crowned, with bleeding feet 

And bitter smart, 
To loftier heights of human hope and life, 
Won by the turmoil of a fearful strife? 

For it hath ever been — and aye must be — 
That as one travaileth with bitter pain 

Of human birth. 
Yet all forgets the pain in holy joy. 
Rejoicing that a man-child has been born, 

Of rarest worth, — 
Birth-throes of agony the world must meet 
Ere yet its best and bravest it can greet. 

A nation springs to arms: What hand could wield 
This trenchant weapon of a people's will? 

A master hand 
Tt needed sore, and seemed to seek in vain, 
And dire defeats, like cloud on cloud, arose, 
Till all was dark. Then flashed the sword on high, 

A conquering brand ! 
And men looked up and in its flash could see 
The name of Grant, presaging victory. 

13 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Raise the Union flag- on high; 

Higher yet! 
Why should it droop, half-masted, as for one 
Vox whom his countr}' only vainly mourns, 

And may forget? 
He ever held his country's flag on high, 
Though at his challenge-cannon's breath 
Heroic foemen rushed to death; 
Pouring their blood like water at his feet, 
In hope to see the Stars set in defeat. 

Raise it with proud salute. 

The cannon's roar. 
Their deep-mouthed baying borne upon the breeze 
Shall voice the nation's pride in his brave deeds. 

From shore to shore. 
Till the wide world, o'er which his fame extends, 
Shall join with us in joy for him who lived — 
Who lived? Is living, and shall never die 
While yet the Union stars shall gleam on high ! 



X4 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



H Belated forefather. 



fight-thc-6ood-fngbt-8mitb Takes a Slalh 
Hfound the Modem Htbctis. 



CHE last stroke of 9 
had sounded from 
the tower of the Old 
South. The night was 
dirty, damp and foggy, 
and along the whole 
length of Washington 
Street not a pedestrian's 
footstep disturbed the 
' unbroken silence which 
followed the last stroke, 
but a head cautiously 
peered from a near 
doorway in hope to 
catch through the mist 
and drizzle a glimpse of 
a homeward-bound car. 
As the individual to whom the head belonged be- 
gan to get used to the peculiar atmospheric conditions 
he saw through the fog a weird figure cautiously 
emerge from rear of the Old South, and gradually 
edge up Milk Street in close proximity to the meeting- 
house, as though he dared not trust himself to stand 
alone, but needed the friendly assistance of the ancient 
structure. 

He was a quaint character, both in dress and ap- 

15 




SLINGS AND ARROWS 

pcarance. His observer, who had quite forgotten his 
anxious search for a car in his interest in the second 
comer, came out from the doorway so that he might 
obtain a full view of the shadow stealing along the 
wall. Just at that moment the electric light took a 
freak to run low, and in the interval the figure had 
made his way to the edge of the rail at the corner of 
Washington Street, to which he seemed to be clinging 
with sheer desperation, as if afraid to trust himself 
from the friendly hold-on the spiked heads of the fence 
afforded. 

He was not drunk. So nnich was evident, fog not- 
withstanding, to the solitary spectator. He did seem 
to be stupid or half asleep. He rubbed his eyes, 
and looked up half timidly at the high buildings, and 
seemed to shrink from the pitiless glare of the electric 
light. The solitary spectator — whose name for sim- 
plicity sake we may believe to be Brown — began to 
grow more interested as the figure near the railing 
showed evident signs of perturbation. Brown, ac- 
customed ahvays to view things from a practical stand- 
point, set down in his mind that the individual at 
whom he was gazing had been one of a masquerade 
ball, and so in good fellowship, he crossed the road 
and accosted the leaning stranger, whose appearance 
justified the thought which had filled Brown, that he 
was gotten up in excellent taste for an early Puritan, 
and that he nu'ght almost have walked out of the pic- 
ture gallery in the Old South quarter-dollar museum. 

"Say, old fellow — excuse me,'" said Brown. "Are 
you waiting for a car?'^ 

The masquer — if he was one — turned a rather 
white face to his interlocutor, showing meanwhile 
evident marks of perplexity, not unmixed with fear. 
When he spoke it was with a strange accent, and a 

i6 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

still stranger trembling- that suggested to Brown that 
he had not been used to the sound of his own voice. 

"Car?" the stranger repeated. "Nay, I know not 
of Cam But I would fain find the home of Dame 
Dorcas Doughty, from whose threshold I have 
strangely wandered this night." 

"Don't know her,"' replied the other. "Too late to 
find a directory, either. What street d'ye want?'' 

"Truly friend, I have forgot'ten, but methinks it 
was near Blackstone, and close to good Master Still- 
man's house and pasture." 

"Say," said Brown, on whom a light seemed to have 
come. "Ain't you going it rough on a feller on this 
racket? You ain't playing Puritan here as well as 
at the ball. Where's your ulster? I tell you it's a 
good night to catch cold." 

"Friend, I know not of what you speak, save that 
you rightly fear, as I do myself, that I might catch 
cold, and I would that my camlet cloak — which was 
trimmed with Muscovy fur, though 'tis vanity to speak 
of such trifles — were on mv shoulders now." 

"I tell you," said Brown, confidentially, "it's tough 
to be out in them clothes to-night, and it's a mighty 
poor racket to shove up an ulster early in May. Now 
I never see my uncle on Salem street till June " 

"Good friend." said the other, "thou hast rightly 
said, 'Twas on Salem Street that mv camlet cloak was 
left " 

"I thought so," interrupted Brown. "I really 
thought so! You've been on a pretty bender, ain't 
vou? Who are vou, and where in time did vou come 
from?" 

"I scarcely know," said the other. "I seem to 
have been long asleep; to have been newly awakened. 
And my name is Fight-the-good-fight Smith." 

17 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"Professional name, probably," said Brown. 
"What is it ofif the bills?" 

"Thou speakest strangel}', friend. lUit Smith is 
my surname, and the given name, or that which the 
vain prelatists call the Christian name, is as I have 
given thee — Fight-the-good-fight.'' 

"Fight-the-good-fight John L. would have been 
better," said the other, sotto voce. But he added 
aloud, "I fancy I have heard of your family before. 
Any relation to John Smith? I knew a man of that 
name once." 

"Truly, that was my father's name, after the man- 
ner of the world," said F-t-g-f. Smith, with more vigor 
of reply than he had hitherto exhibited. "He was 
named John, but for a testimony he called himself 
'Touch-not-the-evil-thing.' " 

"Blue ribbon man, eh?" 

"Nay; he, as did all our kin, eschewed ribbons and 
such vanities, and sought by plainness of attire to bear 
testimony against the frivolities of dress, which en- 
slave the hearts of mere wordlings and royalist perse- 
cutors." 

"Now," said Brown to himself, after a few minutes' 
reflection, "here's about one of the queerest starts I 
ever struck. If this fellow ain't carrying on a joke, 
he's as crazy a loon as ever stepped, or else — " and 
here Brown seemed to hesitate a moment — "or else 
I'm more full than I thought I w^as. But I'll humor 
him, anyway. 

"Say, Fight-the-good-fight Smith — if you don't 
mind me calling you Fi. I'd like it better, because life's 
too short to carry so much of a name around. Say 
Fi., tell us in a word who you are and where you come 
from?" 

"Truly, friend, my name, which thou mayest 
i8 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

shorten an' it please thee, is as I have said, and my 
home is in Wanalansett, which the selectmen have de- 
cided of late to call Maiden, after the name of the 
town from which my father came, and thither must I 
walk if I find not Mistress Doughty's home, and I can 
reach the ferry." 

"Hold on!" shouted Brown, as he seized Fi. by the 
shoulder, and growing more excited as the whole 
tnith flashed upon him: "You don't mean to tell me 
that you're one of the early forefathers, the T. F.'s,' 
'the hardy ancestors,' 'the breaking waves dashed 
high-on-a-stern-and-rock-bound-coast' roosters, do 
you?" 

"I mean," said Brown — "Thunderation! what did 
these fellows know about themselves anyway? Are 
you an early settler? Did your ancestors come over in 
the Mayflower?" 

"No; but I did," said Smith, quietly. 

"The d dickens you did!" said Brown, step- 
ping back against the railing. "Where've you been 
up to this time?" 

"This time?" repeated Smith, vacantly. 

"Yes, this time. Don't you know this is the year 
of grace, 1885, Anno Domini, that is; and of the inde- 
pendence of the United States the one hundred and 
tenth?" 

"United States of Holland?" said Smith, gravely. 

"Holland be — glorified ! I mean the United States 
— Columbia, the gem of the ocean — the home of the 
brave and the free, where the star-r-r spa-a-ngled 
banner, long, long may it wave, etc. Don't you know 
nothing?" he added, abruptly. 

"No," said the other, mournfully; "save that Mis- 
tress Doughty's seems further of¥ than ever, and that, 
lacking my camlet cloak, I am sorely wet." 

19 



SUNOS AND ARROWS 

"That's where we differ again," said Brown, sol- 
emnly. "I'm frightfully dry." 

Some suspicion that a mild form of joke was in- 
teufled in this reply seemed to strike Fi. Smith, and he 
laughed one of those feeble cachinnations which are 
built on a basis only vigorous enough to indicate 
mirth to a very near neighbor — the sort suitable for 
high-backed pews. 

"There's nothing to laugh at," said IJrown, rue- 
fully. "I've often been pitched into the middle of next 
week, but blame me if I ever got mixed up with the 
seventeenth century before. Are you sure there's no 
mistake? Are you the genuine simon-pure, 22-carat 
fine old forefather who came over in the Mayflower — 
the real Ai copper-bottomed for fourteen years, first 
and only original? Come, now, honest injun, arc 
you?" 

"I have alreadv said that ni\- name is b^ight-the- 
good-fight Smith; that my abode is at Wanalansett ; 
that I seek, and seek in vain, the home of good Mis- 
tress Doughty, and I would fain hope a watchman 
might come and direct me thither." 

"Rut. see here, one of us is on a false tack alto- 
gether. As surely as my name's Brown — D. Brown, 
Dun Brown for short — I can't make head or tail of 
it." 

"Truly, friend Brown, mariner surely thou art. for 
thy tongue savors of sea phrases and of sea looseness 
somewhat — mine errand and desires are plain.'' 

"Oh. it's plain enough to you. I dare say. But 
what I want to find is a common ground for us to fix 
on. When did you leave Wana what's liis name?" 

"Wanalansett?" 

"Yes." 

"Yester even, the loth of May." 
20 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 




A Proceeding Which Horrified Fight-The-Good-Fight. 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"In what year?" 

Fi. Smith laughed his feeble laugh once more. 
"I said yester even, and, of course it is 1662." 

"Well, you're out altogether. Tliis is 1885. Do 
you mean to say that you never heard of George 
Washington, King George, JefT Davis, Jim Blaine, 
President Cleveland, the mugwumps, Tom Keenan, 
Jesse Gove and W. S. McNary?"' 

"Never." 

"Did you ever hear of Jt)e Jefferson, or Rip Van 
Winkle, or P. T. Barnum?" 

"Never." 

"Well, ril tell you what it is, Fi. Smith. Our 
fortune's made right here. What"ll you take to star 
the country as the originallest and longest-slept Rip 
Van Winkle this great republic has produced?" 

"You talk in riddles, friend Brown, and speak a 
language of which I know nothing. I seek Mistress 
Doughty, with whom I lodge this night." 

"You'll probably find all that is left of her on 
Copp's Hill," said Brown reflectively. "Anyhow, "tis 
too dark to look her up. Let's take a walk down 
street, and see if you know your way." 

"wSee here,'' continued Brown, grasping Fight-the- 
good-fight by the sleeve of his leather doublet. "Cast 
your eagle eye on this tablet in front of the meeting- 
house and tell us what you think of it." 

Fi's eyes followed the direction in which Brown's 
finger pointed, and read the tablet over the Old South 
Church. 

"I see the record of the gathering of the church, 
at which I was present," said the Puritan, quietly; 
"but I know not what is meant by the words 'Dese- 
crated by the British troops.' Who were the British 
troops?" 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"Well, that's good; aiirt you a Britisher? Don't 
see how that could be, either," added Brown, re- 
flectively. "If you did come over in the Mayflower, 
you're a genuine top-notch American, anyway, from 
the very nature of things. You're an American, ain't 
you ?'' 

"Nay, friend, I'm an Englishman, my father being 
one of Master Hold-fast-the-truth's congregation, who 
left Maldon for this province of Massachusetts Bay." 

"Then, of course, you're a Britisher?'' 

"Nay, indeed, I know not the name." 

"Don't think you know much, anyway. Been 
naturalized?'' 

"Anan?'' 

"Anan? that means don't understand, I s'pose," 
answered Brown. "We'll let it go till to-morrow, 
anyway. But I wish you'd read up on the current 
events of the day." 

"Nay, friend, count me not ignorant of matters per- 
taining to our life. Did not Master Holdfast's letters 
tell of the work done in England of late, and have 
I not here his latest godly tract whereby I am advised, 
'The Godly Rushlight which Gleams in the Dark 
Places to Light the Nation on the Road to Grace,' 
being the story of that godly man and true Gideon 
in valor, Oliver Cromwell?" 

"Guess you'd better leave Oliver Cromwell alone," 
said Brown. "Eliminate )iim, as it were. He isn't 
very popular around here at present. Redmond's on 
deck just now." 

"Tell you what it is," continued Brown, holding 
Fight-the-good-fight by the middle button of his 
doublet, and shaking his index finger in his scared 
face. "Will you kindly bring your slightly dormant 
faculties to bear on the astounding proposition that 

23 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

you are about 240 years old, al the least computation." 

"Nay, friend, 1 am "" 

"Now; don't interrupt, and I'll try to put the mat- 
ter in shape intelligible even to your somewhat old- 
fashioned intellect. You have evidently had a long 
sleep; fell ofif in 1662, and woke up 230 years later. 
Now, I'll give you five minutes for this to get through 
your thick head, and then I've a proposition to make." 

"Good friend Brown, I am reminded even by thy 
quaint talk, of the circumstances under which I came 
hither. Some of us had been hearing that godly man 
and great scholar. Master Thwack-the-cushion, dis- 
course on the mystical number of felloes in Naaman's 
chariot wheels, in which grave subject I was much in- 
terested till, I grieve to say, I fell asleep, even as the 
young man Eutychus." 

"But, unlike Eutychus, you weren't picked up for 
dead; only you slept so long and so sound as to be 
unable to die comfortably, like your forefathers," said 
Brown, gravely. "Now, here's a pretty kettle of fish," 
continued Brown, with half-drunken seriousness; "by 
this little racket you have deprived yourself of a 
numerous brood of descendants; your descendants, 
owing to your persistent habit of sleep, have been 
deprived of a Mayflower ancestor — though how you 
can have any descendants, seeing you've been asleep 
for more than jog vears, is more than I can figure 
out." 

"See here," Brown broke out in sudden energy, as 
he felt himself getting considerably mixed, and de- 
termined to start fresh: "You excellently preserved 
old master, will you take a ramble about the city, and 
tell me what you think of it? The opinions of a real 
R)p Van Winkle like yourself \vould be worth having, 
and I'll try and explain if I can what sort of a figure 

24 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

this city of your'n, which used to be a town, has made 
in history since Namaan's chariot wheels set you off 
to sleep. Is it a bargain?" 

"Indeed, friend Brown, I am at thy service in this 
matter, for I am impressed with the strangeness of 
things around me. Seemeth it not like the Vanity 
Fair which good Master Bunyan wrote of?" 

"Master Bunyan never wrote 'Vanity Fair," "' said 
Brown decidedly. "I don't know much about books, 
but I do know Thackeray was the father of Becky 
.Sharp. But is it a bargain? Will you trot?" 

"I will, friend Brown." 

"Well trot." 



It was a remarkable circumstance, which Brown in 
his excitement did not at lirst notice, that the people 
who had been snugly concealed in the doorways, and 
now came out as soon as the rain ceased, and began 
to fill up the sidewalks, did not appear to be half as 
much impressed with Brown's singular companion as 
he (Brown) had the right to expect. As a show, Fight- 
the-good-fight Smith appeared to be a failure, and 
once or twice Brown had to touch the quaint figure at 
his side to make sure that he was not the victim of 
some vile delusion. 

There was no deception, however, about the guile- 
less nature of Fight-the-good-fig-ht Smith, son and 
sole survivor of Touch-not-the-evil-thing, his father. 
He trotted alongside of Brovvn too much astonished 
at the condition of things around him to say much, 
while his companion was at a loss to begin his self- 
imposed task of trying to convey the ideas of the nine- 
teenth centurv to this seventeenth centurv Rip Van 
Winkle. 

25 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

A consideraljlc period of remarkably eloquent 
silence thus ensued as they passed down the street. 

Brown soon found the quiet intolerable. "Fi.,"' he 
said, as if struck by a sudden thought, "how are you 
off for soap?" 

"Truly, friend Brown, that question is one which 
can only be answered by the maid servants and such 
as do the menial offices of my house at Wanalansett. 
I know not of soap.'' 

"Oh, ah, I forgot. You see," said Brown, "1 don't 
exactly mean soap, but the fact is I'm busted, strapped, 
cleaned out. How are you fixed?" 

"I am not at all fixed, good Brown. I am griev- 
ously unsettled." 

"So 'mi," muttered Brown. "You haven't even 
got some cents about vou?" 

"Verily, I hope so." 

"How much?"' 

"Good neighbor, you are pleased to be witty; say 
rather how many; unless, indeed, you seek such 
subtlety of distinction as good Master Holdfast-the- 
Truth specified. Yea, as he sayeth so well, there is a 
carnal or an earthly sense, a spiritual sense, even as 
there is a modest sense, and " 

"Nonsense," broke in Brown, irritably, "I wish 
you'd either understand the language of the United 
.States or seek some more congenial clime, or a richer 
neighbor. Have you the spondulix, vile dross, filthy 
lucre, root of all evil?" 

"Money?'' queried Fi. 

"Yea, good Fight-the-good-fight; the best sense of 
all; that which does duty in your once godly town for 
the moral sense," remarked Brown, imitating his 
neighbor's twang, as he sought to be sarcastic. 
"Money's the thing that talks. Put up or shut up." 

26 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

''Indeed I have none," replied Fi. 

"If you haven't we must go on our cheek/' said 
Brown, after a pause, during which he had recovered 
his temper. "We're in for it, and must go through. 

"What do you say to turning in here,'" he contin- 
ued, as they neared the porch of one of the theatres, 
down the lobby of whicli a number of spectators had 
come out to study the weather conditions and take 
preliminary precautions against the damp. 

"Is it a meeting-house?" queried the Puritan. 

"You can safely bet your basal dollar on that; 
that's exactly what it is." 

"And is the doctrine therein uttered unto edifying 
and of a sweet savor?'' 

"Regular dispensaries for the diffusion of tafify," 
replied Brown. "Right you are, my boy. By Jove, 
you're taking a tumble at last." 

"Nay, friend, be not profane. I keep my feet; 
even better, methinks, than yourself, and am even less 
swayed to and fro as a reed that is shaken in the wind." 

"Wait till you're three sheets in the wind, my 
right-eous young — I mean old — snoozer, and you'll 
swav, too. But, see here, this is a theatre. Did you 
ever hear of one?" 

"At Ephesus, where certain lewd fellows of the 
baser sort, obeying the commands of the Evil one, 
fought against the good things ministered unto them 
by the apostle," replied Fi. 

"Never heard of the place. What was it? Variety, 
vaudeville, comic opera or one of your regular old 
blood-and-thunder stock companies?" 

"Nay, indeed, it was not a play-house. Godly 
Master Boanerges Muchwind explaineth in his " 

"Oh, never mind old Blowhard. This is a play- 
house. Now I'll put it to you, Fi.," said Brown, sink- 

27 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

ing his voice to a confidential whisper; "will you go 
in lor yourself and see what it is like?" 

''I have nnich curiosity; for, indeed, 1 have heard 
of such, but that it is even as vanity and vexation of 
spirit, the striving after the wind of pleasure." 

"Lots of wind-storming, that's a solemn fact," in- 
terposed Brown, "also scene-chewing occasionally." 

"And did not my grandsire, Habakkuk Smith, a 
man cunning in the w'orld's lore, yet great in grace, 
warn us against certain unseemly tales of one lewd 
fellow named Wagstafif or Shakespeare, or such carnal 
name." 

"I didn't allude to Shakespeare," said Brown. You 
needn't fear meeting him, anyway. We're too highly 
cultivated in this city to waste our time in filling 
theatres to hear his unseemly tales. We're way head 
of him; and have reached and prefer Harrigan & 
Hart as a steady diet." 

"Perhaps, on the whole," said Brown, as his finan- 
cial condition occurred to him, "it would be better for 
your moral welfare not to go in. Now tell me what 
strikes you as most singular in this godly city?" 

"Truly, friend, the light above us, which shineth 
even as a candle set upon a hill which cannot be hid. 
I cannot fathom it. It seems to me that I remember 
only last evening grieving sorely that my lanthorn was 
misplaced, and now the street has grown larger, and 
the light shineth as the day.'' 

"That's the electric light," said Brown, promptly. 

"Whence comcth it, then, friend Brown, and why 
is it set up on high, even as a star?" 

"It comes high," said Brown, thoughtfully, "but 
we must have it. This thing is new to you, of course; 
so are a good many things. It will be my pleasure," 
he added, patronizingly, "to ex]:)lain all to you. You 

28 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

see, Fi., this is an age of enlightening. We're way 
ahead of your candle lantern, Fi., by a majority of at 
least 1999, for the light above us is equal to 2,000 of 
the candles you carried around the last time you were 
on deck.'' 

"Friend Brown, you jest, or speak in strange fig- 
ures or vain parables." 

"Parabolas, you mean, or parabolic reflectors. Fm 
talking science now. See, Fi., the light is brought on 
wires; there's a generator and a dynamo, and a — a — 
what do you call it? A what"s-it's-name behind that, 
run by a steam engine." 

"A what'" 

"A steam engine; boiling water, you know!" 

"It does not seem clear, friend Brown, but me- 
thinks I am dazzled by your explanation more than by 
the light. Did you say a what's-his-name runneth on 
boiling water?" 

"No. I said notb.ing of the kind," said Brown, 
testily. "Fm getting into hot water myself, and out of 
my depth, too. I tell you it's an electric light!" 

"And wdiat, if it be not unseemly, is an electric 
light?" 

"Thought everybody knew that," said Brown, con- 
temptuously. "An electric light — why, an electric 
light is a light by means of electricity. What the mis- 
chief should it be else?" he added, fiercely. 

"Indeed, I know not," said Fi.. ruefully; "yet I 
fain would know." 

"Well, there's evening schools," said Brown, sav- 
agely, "and there's prospectuses of electric-lighting 
companies that'll give }'OU more scientific description 
in exchange for the purchase of treasury stock than I 
can. Gas is more in my line. Now gas, Fi., which is 
set in the lamp-posts on the streets, is what we folks 

29 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

were contented with before Jal)l()cklioff and Edison 
came into being."' 

"And what is gas?" said Fi. 

"Gas? You ought to know what gas is. The Pil- 
grim Fathers have been the manufacturers of more 
gas than any other folks I ever heard of."' 

"And who were the Pilgrim Fathers, and are you 
sure that they made gas?"' said Fight-the-good-fight 
Smith. 

"I should smile,'!' replied Brown. 

"Good friend Brown, why not smile then? ]\lirth 
may even be made unto edification."' 

"Well, I would smile if I had the wherewithal," 
replied Brown; "but smiles cost money, and when a 
fellow has been feebly endeavoring to paint the town 
red on a limited salary it can't be did." 

"Why should you so paint the town?" said Fi. "Is 
it not an unseemly garish color?"' 

"It is, and I'm ofif color pretty much," said Brown, 
reflectively. "But we seem to be getting mixed. When 
I spoke of painting the town red — that is, just a little 
Vermillion, you know, not a deep scarlet, — I used the 
vernacular." 

"Meaning thereby what, good, mirthful Brown?" 

"Having a time; a jamboree; going on a tear; a 
jag; with the chances of a big head on a fellow next 
morning." 

"Again I fail to catch thy meaning, good friend." 

"Don't wonder at it a iDit. I ain't used to baby 
talk, but, by the living Jingo! " 

"Good Brown, swear not." 

"That ain't swearing. Nobody knows who the 
living Jingo is, and so nobody's hurt. But Fi.," said 
Brown, sinking his voice to a whisper, "did you ever 
in your younger days see the elephant?" 

30 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"No such an animal I have heard spoken of by 
those who in the Levant trade were mariners, and in- 
deed are they not spoken of by Livy, wherein the 
marvellous relations of the huge beasts " 

"Excuse me, Fi., for interrupting. That ain't the 
particular breed we look for here, except at circus 
time. Did you ever meet the tiger?"' 

*T have even heard of it as a fierce wild beast that 
devoureth mankind." 

"That's the same breed of tiger, any way. And if, 
as is often the case, it's a skin game, the tiger is espe- 
cially ferocious. I don't mind telling you that I have 
-been badly left by the tiger." 

"Whence come these beasts?" 

"Oh, they are here all the time, F. ; but they do 
very little damage in comparison with the bulls and 
bears." 

"Bears in Boston! Good Brown, you surely jest." 

"Do I. though? Try it, my little Puritan lamb." 

"Friend Brown." said Fight-the-good-fight, tim- 
idly, as they passed a large white building; "that is not 
painted very red. What mansion is it?" 

"That's the Adams House." 

"Doth Master Adams live therein?" 

"Guess not; if he did it would probably be known 
by another name. I suppose it's called the Adams 
House because of its eaves. That's a bit of a chest- 
nut, you know, Fi. ; but then you probably never heard 
it before, and would not know a chestnut anyway." 

A.t that moment two ladies passed on the sidewalk, 
to whom Brown nodded with an easy familiarity. 
They wished to stop and talk, a proceeding which hor- 
rified Fight-the-good-fight Smith so much, as to in- 
duce Bjown to change his mind about addressing 
them. 

31 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"Is it not unseemly and even against the law that 
these should be on the street unattended, and yet not 
])ent on errands of duty or charity, after candle light, 
and even after the bell has sounded the hour of 9?" 
said Fight-the-good- fight, indignantly. 

"Oh, I guess not/' said Brown, carelessly. 'Honi 
soit qui mal y pense,' you know, or ought to know, 
being an Englishman." 

Fi. Smith turned wearily to Brown. "I am griev- 
ously fatigued, good neighbor," he said. 

"So'mi," said Brown; "but I don't often get hold 
of a fellow 200 years old, and you surely slept long 
enough, and can't be very tired. Now to come back to 
our science. Fi. The gas being the subject of pre- 
vious conversation, I want to explain to you that the 
gas is made from coal. Now, you put some coals on 
the fire last night, I s'pose '* 

"Indeed, friend Brown, I have not seen a coal fire 
since our goodlv ship sailed from Delft Haven." 

"Duteil!" 

"I am telling, impatient Brown. We always burned 
wood." 

"I want to know,"" murmured Brown. 

"I am giving you the knowledge as well as I can, 
good friend. We used wood, though some of our 
kinfolk favored sea coal." 

"W^ell, as I was trying to say, Fi., we extract a gas 
from coal, and carry it through pipes under the street, 
and from them into the houses and on the street into 
the lamps you see shining about you." 

"Good friend, it ill becometh thee to say that which 
is not the truth." 

"But it's a solid fact, Fi.. I assure you."' 

"Gas is never solid. Good Master Bailey in his 
dictionary defineth gas as the most subtle or volatile 

32 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

parts of anything, and how can that be soUd and be 
brought in pipes? Who layeth the pipes?" 

"Oh, pipe-laying is a regular business, especially 
about caucus time. Perhaps you don't even know 
what a caucus is?" 

"Nay." 

"It's no use, Fi.; I can't tell you, except that it's 
a meeting where everybody agrees to something they 
haven't had a chance to disagree about." 

"Yea, I perceive, not with unity of spirit, but as 
wearying of contention.'' 

"Not by a jugful," replied Brown. 

The conversation had brought them unconsciously 
to the corner of Tremont and Castle Streets, down 
the latter of which they turned, as the sound of a 
whistle, a ringing of bells and a harsh rumbling sound 
forced a shriek of amazement from the Puritan, who 
seemed to be fairly quaking from terror. 

"What's — what — is that — good friend Brown?' 

"That noise? Oh, the railroad train. See, Fi., we 
travel in a slightly different manner to what you did 
the last time you were awake. We run steam engines, 
which I fully explained to you just now, on iron rails, 
and when you go back to Wanalansett it will take you 
just fifteen minutes. We can travel at the rate of fifty 
miles an hour to-day, Fi. ; we can go to England in 
seven days; talk to folks 500 miles away; we can send 
to them half round the world in half a minute and get 
an answer back, — and we can get a schooner of lager 
for five cents — if we only had the five cents," said 
Brown, ruefully. 

"All this has occurred since you fell asleep on the 
occasion of Naaman's chariot wheels." 

"Friend Brown, I am sorely grieved that thou 
shouldst speak the thing which is not. An' it were 

33 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

possible, methinks, it could only be by art magic and 
diablerie. Tell me no more such fables." 

" "Tain't fables, Fig-ht-the-good fight. Why, we 
can get news from London of a matter four hours or 
more before the thing occurs. Why do you stop up 
your ears?" 

"Friend Brown." said Fi., sternly, "to prevent such 
unseemly tales, which must needs be of the father of 
lies, from entering therein. Were such things seen 
our godly judges would hang the perpetrators thereof 
as witches, as one wicked woman was hanged at Salem 
not long since." 

"We don't hang folks for such trifles nowadays, 
Fi.; we only roast 'em in the papers. There ain't 
much difference I admit. It's just as painful while it 
lasts, but it all ends in smoke. But Pve been telling 
you some solemn facts — dead sure." 

"I am weary, friend Brown." 

"And you make me tired, Fi.." said Brown, sol- 
emnly. "Now Fd like to explain all these things to 
you, but I can't go back to first principles, you know. 
I can show you something you will believe, because 
it's your own church, built by your own folks." 

"Here," said Brown again, as they stopped at the 
corner of Dartmouth Street, "here is your own 
church, the Old South." 

"Nay, Brown, your jest is exceedingly ill-advised. 
That may be a mosque, such as the Levant traders 
speak of as in the countries held by the "barbarous 
Turk, or a Venetian house, wherein doctrines that 
savor of idolatrv are given, instead of the true milk of 
the Word." 

Fi. shook his head decisively, and. to turn the sub- 
ject, pointed to the pile of Trinity Church, which 
loomed in the dim distance, a confused group, out of 

34 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

which the massive square tower alone seemed visible. 
"And what is that?"' said Fi. Smith, pointing to the 
pile, "a meeting-house also?"' 

"You're just a-hooting, 'tis. That"s a church, after 
your old English style. One of the prelatical sort, 
like your father"s Christian name, you know,"" said 
Brown, who did not profess to know much about the 
subject. 

"The church of the Man Charles and the traitor 
Laud?"' shrieked the horrified Puritan. "I want to 
find Dame Dorcas Doughty." 

"Well, we'll hunt her up if we can," said Brown, 
kindly, endeavoring to soothe his agitated friend, and 
across the Common they hurried to Scollay Square. 

"Now, Fi., here's something at last you know more 
about than I do. There's a statue of old John Win- 
throp, a friend of yours. Perhaps you can tell us why 
the pirates wdio made the statue are forcing him to 
walk the plank. Did you ever see him before?" 

"Never." 

"Don't know him, eh? Nor L Guess your mem- 
ory is going back on you a little. It does with very 
old folks, you know," said Brown soothingly. "By 
and by, if you'll think over what you've seen, you can 
wake up again and come around and see us when 
we're better fixed. 

"If there's anything I really like," continued 
Brown, seizing Fi by the middle button once more, 
"it's the company of a jolly little fellow like yourself; 
one of the first families, who ain't too proud to be seen 
talking to a common fellow like myself, an ordinary 
American citizen. For we are a great people," he 
added, growing more and more enthusiastic, "with a 
great country and a flag which, if it hasn't braved the 
battle and the breeze for a thousand years, like your 

35 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

own, Fi., has been l)l()\vn about a s^reat deal more than 
any of 'em; a flaq- which " 

"Holloa, what are you tloinj^ here? Wake up, 
or I'll run you in. as sure's you're born. Tumble up!" 

The speaker was a policeman, and the person ad- 
dressed was lyinp^ a^i^ainst the pedestal of the Winthrop 
statue. He stood up on his feet and stared stupidly at 
the officer, as if unal)lc to l)elieve the evidence of his 
senses. 

"Where's Fight-the-good-fight Smith," he gasped. 

"Come, now, give us none of your lip. young fel- 
low." said the irate officer; "but clear out, mighty 
quick." 

"I nnist have been dreaming." said Brown. And so 
indeed he had. 

lUit he never really believed it himself, and in his 
confidential moods will tell the story of his encounter 
with Fight-the-good-fight Smith, son of Touch-not- 
the-evil-thinof. 




36 



SLJNGS AND ARROWS 



Garibaldi. 



And is lie dead who gave a nation life? 

Who breathed into her dormant soul the breath 
Of freedom, and aroused from worse than deatli 

The land he loved to hioh heroic strife! 



Centuries had fled; the chains Italia wore 

No longer galled with bitter slavery's shame. 
She wreathed the hateful links with richest flowers, 
And art and music seemed her highest fame. 
In sensuous mirth she drowned each warring cry. 
And every throb of Freedom seemed to die. 

No longer cowering 'neath the tyrant lash; 

Nor sullen with the hopes so long deferred, 
She yielded freely to the conquerer's yoke. 

The voice of Freedom was no longer heard! 
Dead to all hope, she flung despair aside, 
And sought to make her slavery her pride. 



There came a call from o'er the sea : 
"The hour has come! Arise, be free! 

Throw off the stranger's yoke." 
The answer flashed in tongues of fire. 
From stripling son and gray-haired sire 
Broke forth the long-suppressed desire — 

The languid nation woke! 
It flashed from out the Alpine snows, 
'Mid Parma's fields it leaps and glows, 

Venetia makes reply; 

37 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

It gleamed o'er Tuscan hills, and swept 
Where Umbria's patriots long had wept. 

The Romans heard the cry! 
And from the Eternal City rose 
The menace to her foreign foes: 
Her black-robed tyrants curse and wail 

And from the city fly! 
\'ain is each trembling spell or ban; 
Where stands Aiazzini in the van, 
The mutterings of the Vatican 

The patriots' cannon drown! 
Southward the stirring impulse tends 
Where Naples' lovely shore extends; 
Calabria sends the token west, 
It leaps from Etna's burning breast. 

To cot and farm and town; 
Till, answering to the mainland's claim, 
Sicilia's island bursts in flame. 
And from the Tyrol to the sea 
A people strike for liberty! 

^; * * * 

'Tis past; the glorious dream is o'er, 

The patriots' arms again are bound. 
The gallows-tree, the prison-pen, 

Have each their fated victims found. 
But gallows-tree nor prison-pen 

Can still the thirst for liberty. 
Who drinks from PVeedom' sacred fount 

But once, must live forever free. 
Backward the current may be borne, 

A moment's space it seems to stay, 
Till swelling with o'er-mastering force, 

It sweeps all barriers away 
And rushes on to reach the sea, 
Resistless in its liberty! 

38 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"Order is re-established!" Gaeta's dungeons hold 
In stern duress the Southern patriots bold; 
Novara's fateful field is drenched with blood, 
Where Piedmont's patriot prince the foe withstood. 

"Peace reigns!" Each petty duke and paltry king 
With vengeful triumph makes the country ring. 
Betrayed and bleeding at their feet she lies, 
But still defiance flashes from her eyes. 

O fools and blind! Cry "peace," while servile drones 

Te Deums chant o'er murdered patriots' bones! 

Cry "peace;" but, bending over murdered sires. 

The father's blood the stvirdy son inspires. 

"Peace reigns!" — 'tis but the lion's backward way 

While gathering force to spring upon his prey! 
* * * * 

How the ancient legends pale 

When is told the glorious tale 
Of the Thousand heroes led by him we mourn to-day. 
Like Etna's fiery torrent bearing down upon its prey; 

Palermo eager waits 

To open wide her gates 
When come the heroes crowned from Calatafimi's 
fray. 

Onward across the straits the force is led, 

Victory and Freedom ever at their head : 
Conquerors,' who knew no foes but Freedom's own. 
Led by a king, who gave away a throne! 

Where shall our hero rest? Among the dead 
Whose ashes consecrate the Pantheon's dome? 
"This was the noblest Roman of them all," 
And well deserves the fame of such a tomb. 
A Cincinnatus. prompt at his country's call; 
A Brennus, who of no surrender breathed; 
39 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

A Fabius, who knew to wait or strike; 

A Scipio, with new Volturno victory wreathed! 
He needs no stately pile nor arched dome; 

The hallowed spot which holds his mortal dust 
Shall be thereby a temple, ever watched 

By Freedom as a consecrated trust! 

Lay him to rest upon his much-loved isle. 

Where should a sailor sleep but by the sea, 
Whose loud diapason forever breathes 

The world-wide love he had for liberty? 
The breeze shall linger o'er the patriot's grave, 
And bear a message o'er each throbbing wave. 

Hail to the Chief! From out the shadowy land, 
The mighty spirits throng to press his hand. 
Hail to the Chief! Mazzini standing by. 
With dauntless Daniel Manin, leads the cry. 
The martyred spirits of the Forty-eight 
Upon their thronging footsteps eager wait. 
Hail to the Chief! The centuries reply. 
Here live the men whose fame can never die! 




40 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Cbe fatal JVIistake. 



A Prolonged Agony, Divided into Four Heads and 
Several Severe Spasms. 

Professor Carl von Pufifendorf 

M. D. and D. C. L., 
Likewise an M. R. S. C. E., 

In learning did excel. 
A prominent instructor, he, 
In Berlin Universitv. 




The learned initials on his name 
Would occupy a column, p'rhaps, 

Were I to mention all he'd claim. 
The printer would run out of caps; 

And so I'll only say that he 

Was everything, from A to Z. 
41 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

I never like to fix a date 
In this inconsequential rhyme — 

Sufficient let it be to state 

He lived "just once upon a time;" 

'Twas when "a good king reigned," and so 

"^'ou'll know 'twas quite a while ago. 

This king to Puffendorf inclined 

And Puffendorf on him relied; 
The monarch was both wise and and kind 

And nought to science e'er denied. 
To sum it up, I here might own, 
Carl was "the power behind the throne." 

His subjects drank their lager bier, 
And on their festive sauerkraut doted, 

Their love of strangers was sincere, 
Their hospitality was noted. 

They would have counted it a sin 

To go and take a stranger in, — 

And so they kept the stranger out, 

And lived in peace, these worthy burghers; 

The wall which compassed them about 
Was built of extra-strong Limbergers, 

And no untutored nose could dare 

The lovely atmosphere to share. 

Life moved in quite a placid way; 

No social breezes there or storms; 
Till Carl von Puffendorf one day. 

Struck out a scries of reforms. 
Whv he should do so none could tell, 
When things were going on so well. 

42 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

But Doctor Puffendorf had read 

The works of all the learned surgeons, 

Of course it hardly need be said 

His views from theirs had wide divergence. 

They said that were a man beheaded 

His head would quickly be dead-headed. 

But Carl took quite the other view, 

The other doctors he derided, 
He made the monarch think so, too, 

When he his purpose had confided. 
'You see it, sire, as I explain? 
I. hope to make myself quite plain." 




The king, who was a kindly soul. 

And loved his subjects less than science, 

Sent out a corporal's patrol 

On whose rare tact he had reliance, 

Who promptly captured for the doctor 

A sausage-maker and a proctor. 

43 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

They brought them to the gentle king, 

Who laid the matter straight before them, — 

It was a little trifling thing, 

He kindly hoped he shouldn't bore them; 

The inconvenience might be dreaded, — 

But — would they kindly be beheaded? 

The proctor cheerfully assented; 

The butcher only asked delay, 
He had a note, just then presented. — 

He'd really like the note to pay. 
When that was done, the butcher said, 
He'd gladly give the king his head. 

The happy monarch shed a tear 
Of joy to find two men so loyal ; 

He kindly hoi)ed they wouldn't fear 
To give \'on PufTendorf a trial. 

They didn't; when the note was paid 

Their heads upon the block were laid. 

The heads fell ofT; the headsman's axe 

From off their shoulders neatly sliced 'em, 

The doctor's skill was put to tax 

Upon the trunks again to splice 'em. 

He fixed them so that none could part "em. 

And — proved his case, secundum artem. 

The learned doctors were invited 

To come and see these curious cases; 

They came, and treatises indited 

With learned German-Latin phrases. 

The fame of Pufifendorf resounded 

Wherever learncvl men abounded. 

44 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

But in the midst of joy, alas! 

A rumor noAv began to spread, 
(None knew how such had come to pass) 

The butcher had the proctor's head, 
The proctor on his shoulders bore 
The head which once the butcher wore. 




The proctor had a pretty wife, 

The butcher had a comely spouse; 

Each wife had lived a virtuous life — - 
Now each refused her mate to house; 

"Twould be a sin, as all can see, — 

Gen. Stat., cap. 165, sect. 3. 



The lawyer could not kiss his w'ife 

While locked within the butcher's arms, 

4S 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

The butcher, dreadful to relate, 

Was forced to yield up Gretchen's charms, 
For how could he approach his dear 
Unless the lawyer came too near? 




Thus on two happy households fell 

A most unmerited disaster; 
I won't upon the details dwell. 

But reach the end a little faster. 
And so — to rrght the vicious snarl. 
The Diet met with good King Karl. 

The lawyers and the doctors wrangled ; 

The parsons also took a hand in; 
They left the matter more entangled 

And in despair were near disbanding. 
Till some bright genius broke the spell,- 
He'd change the women's heads as well. 

46 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

The Diet caught at this sugg-estion, 

And promptly passed the member's motion ; 

The wives accepted without question 
This means to settle all commotion. 

Their heads were off their shoulders sliced, 

And promptly on each other spliced. 

All thought t}ie trouble here would end, 
All praised the wisdom of the Diet 

The women's wounds began to mend. 
The place resumed its wonted quiet. 

Until a dreadful rumor rose 

('Twas started by the doctor's foes): 




47 



SLINGS AND ARKOIVS 

'Twas claimed the matter was much worse. 

Than even it had been before; 
The husbands, too. began to curse — 

Where two were mixed, there now were four. 
The matter, which all thought was fixed, 
Now only seemed to be more mixed. 

The populace, now quite enraged, 
Broke out in direful insurrection. 

King Karl a steerage berth engaged 
(Chicago, 111., his trunk's direction). 

The doctor shipped from Hamburg, too, 

In London he was lost from view. 

But good King Karl, in Illinois, 

Soon saw a way to make things straight 

He bought (he paid for them with joy) 
Divorces from that gen'rous State. 

He took them home, the trouble mended, — 

Thank heaven, at last my storv's ended. 




48 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Che Bvolution of the proof-reader. 



The origin and evolution of the newspaper proof- 
reader is a subject far too abstruse for the average 
writer to handle. The fact that Darwin's "Origin of 
Species" is silent on the subject shows that even that 
learned pundit recognized that some things were be- 
yond his comprehension, and therefore were wisely 
left untouched. 

It might, however, be hazarded, simply as a guess, 
that proof-readers are of the tribe of Ishmael, for 
"every man's hand is against them, and their hands are 
against every man." 

Like their progenitor Ishmael, proof-readers are 
illegitimate; they represent an evolution from the 
composing-room, with a strong flavor of affiliation 
with the editorial department; a sort of hybrid or mule 
compositor, with a dash, of thoroughbred stock 
evolved from the "brainery" pedigree of the literary 
branch of the newspaper business. 

Careful inquiries among their natural enemies, the 
compositors, reveal the unanimous expression of 
opinion that proof-readers, unlike poets, are made, not 
born, and that the malevolent powers of darkness are 
mainly instrumental in their production. This ac- 
counts, probably, for the fact that they are systematic- 
ally and constantly being consigned to the Plutonian 
domains, but they, somehow, thrive on curses, and 
occasionally grow fat. 

There is a strong probability that the compositors 
are prejudiced in their ideas concerning their deadly 
foes, the proof-readers. The development of the latter 
is, however, a striking proof of the propensity to put 

49 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

round men into scjuarc holes. With the most singu- 
lar unanimity it is agreed (also by the compositors) 
that all proof-readers arc incompetent and have "fat" 
jobs. , 

The same unfortunate principle of selection gov- 
erns the appointment of general officers to an army; 
at least there was never an intelligent private who 
could not conduct a campaign with more ability than 
the commanding officer. 

Another thing that creates an unfavorable feeling 
against the proof-reader is the reflection that he lives 
solely by the errors and follies of his fellow-men. Rut 
for that matter ministers of churches and temperance 
lecturers, no less than jailers and judges, also thrive 
on the same meat, and it ought not to tell too much 
against the subjects of this notice. 

Let us see for a moment what the duties of a proof- 
reader are, that we may the better be able to under- 
stand what kind of being he is, and what are the men- 
tal resources he is required to possess for his peculiar 
business. 

When this communication shall have passed the 
eagle eye of the editor and received his stamp of ap- 
proval, it will be sent up stairs for the compositor to 
wrestle with. Before, however, it will reach him it will 
meet a villain armed with a pair of scissors and a 
formidable paste-pot. It is his duty to cut it up into 
small pieces, or "takes," for the compositor, and it 
depends largely upon the time which can be given to 
it whether any one compositor will have enough of it 
placed in his hands to be able to have any idea of the 
subject, or, except by careful comparison with some 
other man's piece of copy, any suggestion as to how 
the matter should be punctuated, if, as is often the 
case, the writer leaves that essential duty for the com- 

.50 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

pO'sitor. When the last-named worthy has, under such 
varying circumstances, translated the manuscript into 
the types, a proof slip is printed, and, with the copy, 
passed to the reader for careful comparison, and for 
the purpose of detecting those peculiar abominations 
which represent the innate depravity of the types and 
the occasional slips of the compositor. The proof- 
reader must note every typographical or mechanical 
error; be alive to the grammar and construction of 
the sentences before him; know or guess at enough 
of the facts to be able to correct the writer, and having 
thus wrestled with and marked each error, and drawn 
down upon his head threats of vengeance from the 
compositor, the proof is corrected and is then ready 
for insertion in the "forms*' for the stereotype room. 

Sharp eyes, sharp wit, quickly applied knowledge; 
a hide like a rhinoceros, so as to be impervious to 
"kicking," are fundamental requirements of a proof- 
reader. There are others almost equally important. 
In the columns of a daily newspaper an infinite variety 
of topics is covered each morning. The proof-reader 
ought to know enough of every conceivable subject to 
be able to correct an error at a moment's notice. He 
should know Webster by heart; have an intimate 
knowledge of Latin; be on speaking terms with the 
French, German and all the modern languages; and 
be able to at least recognize an old acquaintance in 
Greek, Sanskrit, Coptic or any other rare tongue; be 
well versed in the law and its technicalities; have the 
Bible and all the systems of theology founded thereon 
at his fingers' ends ; know the name of every celebrated 
or public man, living or dead, of every age or clime; 
Shakespeare to him "should live in every line," and the 
whole of the poets be at his pencil tip, — if need be, 
for the prompt correction of a quotation. And if he 

51 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

be not a past master in the art of male and female mil- 
linery, and ecjual to all the technicalities involved in 
all the floods found in a first-class department and dry 
g-oods store, and does not understand more than a little 
of horse and dog breeding, besides having acquaint- 
ance with every trade and mechanical vocabulary, he is 
but poorly etjuipi^ed. If he is not an adept in every 
sport, and can follow a game of base-ball or golf 
or bowling or billiards, with the ease of an expert, and 
correct any and every blunder at railroad speed, he is 
rather worse than useless. 

In short, he is. or oug-ht to be, an encyclopaedia of 
all knowledge. i)ast, present or to come. 

In addition to these slight accomplishments he 
must read at a breakneck pace, while the irate fore- 
man looks with bloodthirsty eyes alternately upon him 
and the clock, especially when the editions are late and 
the "forms" are waiting-. Fortunately the conditions 
under which a proof-reader generally works in a 
well-regulated newspaper establishment are calculated 
to keep him up to the mark. Instead of the dreamy 
solitude of a quiet study, where, surrounded by an 
ample library of reference books, he can peacefully 
plod through an essay, a lecture, a fashion article or a 
murder case, he is generally posted in the noisiest part 
of the composing room, where the hiss of steam, the 
rattle of doors, the tread of many feet and the hubbub 
and discordances of a large roomful of men culminate. 
Besides this, he is constantly favored with the delicate 
attentions of ordinary conversations, and is occasion- 
ally baited with queries and acrimonious disputes of 
his accuracy at the moment when he is trying with 
the help of his assistant to decijiher some bewildering 
hieroglyph which an amiable lunatic is ]:)leased to call 
hand-writing. 

52 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

In such a case, if it be a name, it is bound to go in 
wrong; if it be a mere verbal rocket he quietly sub- 
stitutes another word missile. The chances are of 
course that the sentence will carry a meaning in the 
paper that the writer never intended. 

The "intelligent compositor" is the direst foe with 
which the proof-reader has to deal. From the method 
of giving out copy necessarily adopted on a news- 
paper, each of lOO compositors may have a few lines 
of copy to set, the meaning of which, from the ab- 
sence of the connecting matter, it is only possible to 
wildly guess at; or it may be that the sense of the 
matter is the last thing that troubles the intelligent 
"comp," who is more interested in piling up a night's 
work than in the subject-matter of the article on which 
he is at work. In such a case a piece of crabbed manu- 
script reaches the reader's hands in a state full of dis- 
tortions, contortions and perversions of words almost 
incredible to the uninitiated. A lady writer on a Bos- 
ton newspaper, dealing with matters of import to 
female readers, so effectually disguised her intentions 
behind an attenuated, scraggy style of lead pencil 
writing as to leave a room full of compositors perspir- 
ing in the effort to discover whether a word which 
looked like "pancakes" meant "jabots" or "fichus," 
and if dresses are cut in "pickerel" style or "princesse." 
Or a learned political pundit, who knows everything 
about writing except the art of penmanship, scribbles 
m ancient Coptic or cuneiform character his opinions 
and ideas, which by the time it has filtered through the 
composing room results in half maddening the read- 
ers, who not being possessed of the gentleman's ideas 
are absolutely lost in sheet after sheet of MS. full of 
suggestions for a half-dozen other kinds of matter 

What wonder, then, if mistakes occasionally creep 

53 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

into papers, even of the severest respectability. One 
of them gravely announced that "Rochester, N, Y., 
is to be connected with Niagara Falls by means of un- 
derground wives," when "wires" was the innocent 
term intended; or that it should speak of Knglishmen 
being indifferent to "(larlic Chester," when Gallic 
bluster" was what the bold Triton cared little for. 

Proof-readers, it may be also remarked, are pe- 
culiar in another regard. They sit as judges in a final 
court of appeals, and they enjoy the distinction — only 
accorded to one man beside — of being considered in- 
fallible, or. at least, those who ought to be infallible. 
As a rule they are. Still, even proof-readers, like 
Jove, have been known to nod. One suffered an 
announcement to appear in a I'oston paper that the 
Legislature ought soon to adjourn, because the "chan- 
deliers" were peeping through the grass in front of the 
State House, when the unfortunate journalist tried to 
write "dandelions;" another allowed an ingenious 
compositor to advertise a "two-storied French-roof 
horse" for sale; and a third, on the occasion of a forth- 
coming street pageant, suffered the announcement to 
go forth that "several widows were for hire" on the 
line of the procession. Still another permitted a re- 
ligious paper to give forth to its readers the astound- 
ing information that two clerical "fiends" from London 
would be guests at an expected convocation of clergy- 
men. 

Allusion has been made to the practice of cutting 
copy so as to leave but a few lines — perhaps only two 
or three — for the compositor to wrestle with. He sees 
or imagines he sees a combination of letters, and the 
result is to produce a beautiful "bull." In one instance 
a small piece of copy thus started referred to a fire. 
The last words of the preceding piece were: "The 

54 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

buildings were reduced to a" and compositor No. 2, 
neglecting his duty to see sufficient of previous copy 
to know what the subject was, started with the words 
apparently written. In this case the proof-reader 
managed to seize upon the error in time, and thus 
saved the paper from announcing in a report of a great 
fire that the inmiense buildings were reduced to a 
"mess of onions," instead of a "mass of ruins.'' In the 
same way "chaotic revenues" were saved from appear- 
ing as "Charlie Devens;" and "Streeter's system of 
voice building" failed to appear as "Streeter's system 
of rice pudding." 

"Free Speech, Free Soil, Free Men," was a sentence 
which, amid great applause, a speaker thundered out 
in Tremont Temple as a part of his political pro- 
gramme. It appeared in a Boston morning paper as 
"free speech, free soil, free rum," and a whole series 
of explanations failed to explain to the non-profes- 
sional reader how such a "bull" could go through. 
In the same political campaign a paper gravely an- 
nounced that certain politicians of the opposite way of 
thinking might be "relegated to the 'coal sheds' of 
Mount Auburn" instead of the "cool shades." For the 
same reason — "blind" copy — a distinguished traveller 
was said to have died in the "richness of sin," which 
might have been true; but the writer, not troubling 
himself about the moral condition of his subject, wrote 
or tried to write, that the traveller died in the "interior 
of Asia." Perhaps the worst instance on record was 
where a headline written with the intent to produce 
the words "A Honeymoon Cut Short" came out as 
"A Hungarian Cut Throat." 

Horace Greeley's blind manuscript made the New 
Yor'k Tribune say of Webster's apostacy, " 'Tis one, 
'tis fifty; fifty 'tis, 'tis five," when " 'Tis true, 'tis pity; 

55 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

pity 'tis 'tis true," was what Horace thought he wrote. 
But Horace Greeley never deserved sympathy. His 
writing was awfully bad. 

Names are a peculiar source of trouble, for if writ- 
ten at all blindly the surrounding matter will give little 
clew. Still, it is hard to see how in an article on 
Egypt "Ismael Pasha" could become "Israel Parker," 
or how "Shadows and fishermen" could ever be a fair 
equivalent for Sadducees and Pharisees. "St. Peter 
was a fisherman," said a reporter. The proof-reader 
managed to fasten on to the fact that the compositor 
had made it "St. Peter was a policeman," some con- 
fusion as to the saint's duties as doorkeeper having 
doubtless helped to make the "bull." 

Latin phrases are likely to suffer from the types. 
"O Salutaris" slipped by as "O Saleratus" and "Haec 
Dies" as "Hair Dyes," while "Multum in Parvo" had a 
narrow escape from appearing before the public as 
"Mutton in Paris," and "mise en scene" became per- 
sonified as "Miss N. Scene." 

Some tricks of the types, a letter changed or 
broken olif, will make an awkward error, for which no 
one may be responsible, and of course these always oc- 
cur in the most objectionable form. Thus "the Rus- 
sian General Troubetzoioski was found dead with a 
long 'word' sticking in his throat," just because the 
letter "s" had viciously dropped out at the wrong 
moment; and, for the same reason, "the enemy was re- 
pulsed with great laughter," which shows how near 
wholesale butchery may be a comical episode. 

The substitution of one letter for another made a 
highly respectable Boston paper print a poetic eulogy 
of Emerson which began, "We brayed and sang to- 
gether," and another said "Colonel Blank was killed 
in a liottle.'"' 

56 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Between ignorance, innocence, blind manuscript 
and carelessness the proof-reader's lot is not alto- 
gether a happy one. The chances are that while he is 
congratulating himself on having captured 10,000 
typographical freebooters, one vicious brigand has 
successfully run the gauntlet, and some well-informed 
individual is sitting on the steps of the newspaper 
office waiting to call the editor's attention to a serious 
typographical error. 

But, let the proof-reader and his assistant con- 
scientiously struggle against all impediments and diffi- 
culties, decipher crabbed manuscript, correct dates, 
successfully straighten out a careless editor's "facts,"' 
or do all that intelligence and care can accomplish — 
the chances are a thousand to one that when they do 
slip it is on a point that required only the simple rule 
of following correct copy, and that the error was in 
direct violation of the best copy, — printed matter, 
most likely, — and which the veriest tyro in the busi- 
ness could not have neglected. "Tis sad, but true, that 
the "call-downs" are generally deser\'ed. 

A little reflection will show that though the proof- 
reader occasionally nods, he is generally pretty wide 
awake, and that the papers of Boston will bear com- 
parison with any, either at home or abroad, for liter- 
ary and typographical accuracy. Recalling the fact 
that the work we have been describing has to be 
executed at railroad speed quite often, it is remarkable 
with how few errors the proof-reader or his assistant 
can be credited. 



57 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Cbe [Natural Ristory of the Compositor. 



The compositor is a tough subject. 

It is well for the writer to hasten to remark that 
the proposition embodied in the first paragraph is not 
intended to apply to the moral character of the com- 
positor. It is simply a confession that he approaches 
the discussion of the subject with the modesty which 
has always been his distinguishing characteristic, and 
that he feels the compositor is a theme which it is dif- 
ficult to handle, if the aim is to adequately convey an 
idea of his features to the general public. In fact, to 
repeat the expression, which after this explanation 
cannot be considered obnoxious, even if it is tauto- 
logical, the compositor is a tough subject! 

In a previous article on the compositor's natural 
enemy, the proof-reader, the writer hazarded a guess 
as to the origin of those mysterious beings who know 
everything and everybody, and whose universal knowl- 
edge flows from them in inexhaustible profusion. There 
is no need of guessing as to the origin of the composi- 
tor. It is a clearly established fact that he is of spon- 
taneous generation. Just how or under what special 
conditions he is evolved is not so easily known; but of 
the fact there can be no question. "The woods are full 
of 'em," and many have been known to retain their 
verdurous freshness even to old age. Like Topsy, 
they "growed," and, like the class from which that im- 
mortal piece of ebony was evolved, compositors are 
frequently raised by speculators, and put upon the 
labor market at any convenient spot where they can 
be used to cut down wages. 

58 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

In rural life, the compositor may grow up to be a 
reputable citizen; even to be a church member, and 
some have been elected to responsible positions. Pint 
the country compositor rarely lives long" enough for 
this. Long before the down on his lip has become 
visible to the naked eye, he dies (rurally) and is "resur- 
rected" in the nearest city. He may return to his old 
home — to die; in very rare instances he returns to fill 
his old position. Where such cases occur they are only 
exceptions which prove the rule that country composi- 
tors are loved by the gods, for they invariably leave 
the rustic world very young and remarkably fresh. It 
is in the large cities that the compositor is seen at his 
best — that is, in his most highly developed stage of 
being. In the metropolitan cities and on the dailies he 
shows all those charming qualities which entitle him to 
the distinction of being made the tough subject of his 
article. He is a gentleman by profession, because an 
old English statute entitles him to the honorable dis- 
tinction of wearing a sword. Luckily for the peace 
of the community this statute has become obsolete in 
these piping times of social peace. 

Of all the varieties of the genus the "intelligent" 
compositor is the most remarkable. He is the one who 
constantly appears before the public, always in a nega- 
tive fashion, be it understood. The public rarely hears 
of him or from him except when some exceptionally 
atrocious bull has to be accounted for. On his intelli- 
gent shoulders is laid the editorial blame for the typo- 
graphical villainies from which even the best papers are 
not wholly free, and on him, too, rests the burden 
of maintaining the prerogative of his chosen profes- 
sion. 

This profession is of the most respectable kind. 
Young rustic geniuses, who might, under more rigid 

59 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

principles of selection, have made excellent shoe- 
makers or road-menders, have been attracted to "the 
art preservative of arts" by the highly respectable 
character with which the profession is invested. 

"All one has to do," remarked an intelligent farmer 
on the business of a compositor, "is to sit upon a stool 
and pick up little nails out of boxes." For an exhaust- 
ive summary of the trade of the compositor this is 
good. It is only paralleled by the equally compre- 
hensive sketch of the "trade" of a sculptor, where all 
you have to do is to take a big block of stone and chip 
olT all the pieces you don't want in the design. 

There are instances of lawyers who were eminently 
adapted to adorn any other than the legal profession, 
and of doctors who would have made tolerably good 
assistants in a a barber's shop or butcher's stall, had a 
kind Providence governed their selection of a busi- 
ness. But so far as the peculiar species of compositor 
known as "intelligent" is concerned, he may be dis- 
missed for the present with the parodied remark that, 
as a general rule, he only requires to know the art of 
type-setting to be acquainted with almost everything. 

The compositor — by which we mean one of the 
ordinary species — is a bird of a different feather. Out 
of respect to his feelings we purposely avoid the com- 
mon figure, "a horse of another color," for if there is 
anything the average compositor detests it is "horse" 
of any kind. He is a being for whom we have a kindly 
feeling; not exempt from error, of course^ — none of us 
are. He has his little errors, as proof-readers know 
very well. Like Cassius, he has cause for bitter com- 
plaint, frequently, that "all his faults are observed and 
set in a note-book; learned and conned by rote," and 
"cast into his teeth." Sometimes, it is right to add, he 
has others' faults crowded upon him. 

60 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Let us see what his duties are, that we may the 
better observe the compositor. The reader need not 
suppose that we are going to lead him through the 
technical alleyways of the business. The compositor, 
whose sole weapons of attack and defence are a com- 
posing-stick and the thin steel rule which is used for 
arranging the type on in the stick, stands or sits before 
a case in which, in separate boxes, are laid the letters 
of the alphabet and all the characters which go to 
make up the "typographical embellishments" of a sheet 
of printed matter. It is his duty to reproduce in type 
the words on the copy before him, and to do this 
properly he must be provided, first, with a good eye 
for the reading of all sorts of manuscript, a correct 
idea of the rhythm or sense of the subject, to be able 
to punctuate it properly, and be ready to do it with 
such mechanical as well as literal accuracy as is de- 
manded. If his copy came before him in large 
(juantitics so that he could always tell the subject 
treated on, or if it were written (as it most frequently is 
not) with any idea that other people than the writer 
had to read it, the literal accuracy might be depended 
on — occasionally. The article on which he is laboring, 
especially if it be in a large newspaper office, though 
appearing before the editor as a whole, reaches him 
possibly in its hundredth fractional part. . This diffi- 
culty overcome, and the manuscript being tolerably 
plain, he may be expected, and generally does, pro- 
duce a clear transcript of the copy set before him. Yet 
at his fingers' ends the types are always quick and 
ready to betray him. 

If carelessly placed in the cases or if by accident a 
letter finds its way into a neighbor's compartment, an 
error, and sometimes a comical one, is the result; or 
the compositor might easily lose his grasp of the copy 

6i 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

at a word, and take it uj) again where a similar word 
oecurs, and thus leave out a portion of it; or he might 
"double" on a little piece of it; or, again, he might use 
a capital letter in the wrong place, or his ideas of 
punctuating the copy might not suit the critical proof- 
reader, and for all of these he has to be responsible. 
The innate depravity of the types; the mysterious law 
of locomotion by which the little bits of metal before 
him travel out of their proper spheres of action, are 
all ready to trip him up — even if he had not his own 
little slips of carelessness to help him on the road to 
ruin. 

lUit a worse enemy than either, one who assumes 
a defiant, not to say a blustering, attitude, and with 
whom the compositor is at deadly and unceasing war- 
fare, is named "Style." "Style" may be defined as an 
attempt (frequently of the proof-reader, but often of 
the editor, or both lunatics combined) to reduce a 
flexible language, like our own. to inflexible rules. Of 
course it can never be done, but hundreds of other- 
wise sane men try it, with the necessary result of inter- 
minable confusion of ideas and an awful amount of 
friction. 

Sometimes this "Style"" has the one merit of rigid 
simplicity, as, for instance, "Keep up (i. e.. use capital 
letters for) such words as God and Sam Bo^yles, and 
let everything else go down" (in small letters). Some- 
times a labored attempt is made to create a system, 
the only merit of which is that it is bound to bristle 
with exceptions. "Use 'caps' for party names," says 
"Style." Well, that's easy enough — till it's tried. 
"Democrat" and "Republican" are party names, and 
the road seems clear. It is no sooner settled than up 
crops an exception. "Ts 'Nihilist' a party name?" 
No; in the judgment of the proof-reader, it is not; 

62 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

neither is ''Mugwump'' nor "Stalwart," and so the con- 
fusion reigns supreme till "Socialist" and "Com- 
munist" and "Anarchist" step in to help the row. Take 
the word "church," as applied to the Universal Church 
— the body of Christians of all shades of belief, or in 
the theological sense of the word, the cause of religion 
—it is certainly a bigger fellow and more deserving 
the distinction of a capital letter, which gives at once 
its meaning to the eye, than "church"' which is applied 
to a special society of worshippers only. Yet "Style" 
says "down with the church (universal), but up with 
the "Powump Congregational Church," because that's 
a clear title of a building! "Style" says: "'Keep 
down' river, harbor, bay, ocean, etc., but keep up 
'island;' else we shall get mixed on Long Island, 
Rhode Island and Galloupe's island" — a vastly dif- 
ferent sort of place. So also is "channel" used with a 
small letter; but "channel," when used with the definite 
article and mostly, if not always, applied to the Eng- 
lish channel, must be kept down, too, in order to con- 
form to the rule as to "bay, river, ocean," etc. "State" 
must have a capital "S" if it means the territorial dis- 
tinction, and so "State militia" appears with the ad- 
jective ornamented with a big letter and the substan- 
tive a small one. 

The first line of a familiar hymn, "The Church's 
one foundation," seems to halt in conveying 
its meaning if set "The church's one foundation." for 
the capital "C" has conveyed the idea of "Church" 
through the eye ere the other portion of the line has 
been grasped. 

Instances may be indefinitely extended. An arbi- 
trary rule is impossible; yet something has to be done 
to keep the newspapers from bristling with capital let- 
ters. None the less is it manifestly absurd to lay down 

63 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

a rule iiiHcxiblc fur that which is always varying' and 
elastic. 

All these little things have to be grappled with, 
however. The compositor, if he fails to hit the exact 
line, has to pay for it in the time spent correcting his 
proof, and as no two men ever yet agreed on this sub- 
ject, any more than on the insertion or omission of 
that bone of contention, the comma, there is plenty of 
divergence. Then the division of words at the end of 
a line involves confusion, correction and consequent 
loss. If "William'' divides at end of a line shall we 
turn over to the next line "liam" or "iam"? So the 
fun rages fast and furious, but the compositor gener- 
ally has to pay the ])iper. The genius who shall suc- 
ceed in making a rule which can l)e infiexil)le and easy 
of understanding is }ct to appear. 

Bad manuscript is a fruitful source of annoyance 
and loss to the compositor, and is responsible for as 
many errors as anything else. Still the comj^ositor can 
occasionally exhibit a striking instance of misdirected 
genius, even with printed copy or faultless manuscript. 
If he should happen to be interested in a conversation, 
not even the fact of printed copy can save him from 
introducing it in the type. One of the "intelligent 
compositors" of a daily, more intent on a conversation 
than his duty, jjroduced the astounding police item 
that "Samuel Jones was arrested for being drunk at 
the corner of Shawmut avenue and Constantinople;" 
another, eagerly discussing the drama, made "shep- 
erdless sheep" appear as "Shakespeare's sheep." Sheer 
ignorance — though that is not a common fault — made 
one fresh from the rural districts speak of "Prince 
Beeswax and his policy" instead of Prince Bismarck. 
The proof-reader generally gets hold of these before 
they have time to reach the street. When time presses 

64 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

type is sometimes placed in the forms l^efore the proof- 
reader gets opportunity to read it or the compositor a 
chance to correct it. And for this reason a leadine 
dramatic critic of this city was made to say that Mary 
Anderson "cast looks of love at her ten dresses," when 
"looks of love and tendresse'^ was the phrase intended. 

In an issue of a Boston daily paper a eulogy of a 
deceased merchant by a distinguished preacher con- 
veyed to the public the fact that "the deceased was a 
man of sterling Christian character and of a business 
integrity, oats 87c. to 79c. for May; 90c. to 96c. for 
June, beyond suspicion," a mixture due to the dropping 
of a line of type in the wrong place by the compositor. 
Worse tricks even than this have been played after 
the types have left the compositors' hands. 

But this subject of bulls has already been touched 
upon in a previous article, and need not be be ampli- 
fied here. Nothing, however, is more remarkable than 
the accuracy — literal as well as mechanical, which dis- 
tinguishes the make-up of a daily paper, when the con- 
ditions under which it is put together are taken into 
account. In this the compositor bears an honorable 
part of the duty, and considering- the limitations under 
which he necessarily labors, deserves a great deal 
more credit than he generally gets. From this class 
of workmen, in this country and elsewhere, the num- 
ber which has attained rank and distinction is very 
great. It is a business which is in itself a constant 
education, and which has a tendency to enlarge the 
worker's capacity, and call into daily exercise the 
knowledge constantly acquired. 



65 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Cbe Household's Queen. 



A mother-in-law and a 1:)aby is surely household 
stock-in-trade enough for any reasonable newspaper 
parag-rapher. The mother-in-law is on deck, and the 
baby is here — heavens, what a yell! 

She is a trouble — the feminine pronoun implies 
that, of course. There was a time in the healthy, vig- 
orous youth of this world of ours when a Roman 
father could elect whether a new-born babe should 




live, or be put out on the highway to kick its feeble 
way to Jove, or Jericho or Tewkesbury. Unfortunately 
we have out-lived that practice; now public sentiment 
is against it, except in China and India. Like sensible 
men the Roman dads elected to let the boys live, and 
only sufficient of the girls to justify the expense of 
keeping them. As a consequence the republic of 

66 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Rome never rejoieed in women's rights conventions, 
and a women's anxiliary to the Jovian Missionary So- 
ciety was the last topic thought of for discussion in 
the households of the fellcnvs who wore the tosfas. 

Marcus Aurelius Pompeianus Julius Scipio never 
had occasion to steal a novel from the book shelf and 
retire to the garret, or loaf down the street to where 
Metellus Junius Bnttus awaited the oboluses neces- 
sary to procure a libation, because his wife, or their 
wives, had a meeting of the Mater Gracchi Society 
for the relief of sick gladiators, or the resuscitation of 
a moribund society for the suppression of ex- 
cessive libations. Not they; they simply bossed the 
ranch and determined the sort of family they wanted 
by eliminating the undesirable element. Brave old 
Romans! Unconquerable veterans! Founders of the 
world; builders of states! I revere them. I wish we 
could emulate their virtues, especially the one to which 
I have alluded. 

But we can't. Besides, this leads me far awav from 
the subject. Not that that is an undesirable thing for 
me — the poor reader is sufifering. Yet I wish I could 
get away from the subject as easily as the poor reader 
can. The "subject" is up-stairs bawling out at the top 
of its Inngs; for what, no one can discover. "Innate 
depravity," I meekly suggest, and that suggestion 
is met by the cross rejoinder that that is the only solid 
thing the child has inherited from its progenitor. (P. 
S. — I am supposed to be the progenitor.) 

I would hke to go to bed; but the "subject" is 
howling and the women are searching for a mischiev- 
ous pin or rummaging the closets for castor oil or 
paregoric, and varying their share of the entertain- 
ment by occasionally banging open the door of the 
room in which I try to shelter myself to ask if I care 

67 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

two cents whether "the pretty dear" is dying- or not. 
I'm sure I don't know, and so I can't answer reacHly. 
The door is l)anq;ed ag^ain. while "the pretty dear" is 
yelHng away at a fort\-baby rate up stairs. The folks 
on the sidewalk stop; they appear anxious to know 
what the trouble is; seeing me in api)arent comfort, 
they evidently l(Jok upon me as a Roman father 
"born out of time," as the poet says, and the sidewalk 
committee's chairman is about to interview the police 
when a fortunate shadow across the chaml)er curtain 
tells of a musical promenade up stairs — the mother 
supplies the promenade; every one recognizes the 
music. They pass on, and I breathe easier. 

liut the subject won't stop howling. "It's getting 
lu)arse. pretty bird!" I hear the aged relict of my 

father-in-law croak. "It's coughing now " Why 

the mischief shouldn't it cough? Could any lungs not 
made of bellows leather stand the strain of that yell 
for two consecutive hours? I don't know, in the lull 
that takes place, whether the cough is not the pleasant- 
cst sound I have heard for a long time; anything 
rather than the yelling. 

The lull soon ceases. The baby has stopped pro 
tern., and the long-pent-u]) indignation of the women 
breaks out with double force on mv innocent head. 
Tf I had been guilty of an attempted murder of the in- 
fant T could not come in for a worse share of abuse. 
Again T am asked whether I "care for the precious 
darling's life;" whether I "didn't ought to be ashamed 
of myself" — the last is a duet, by the way, and then 
the entertainment varies into a tearful expostulation 
that is worse to bear than the tongue banging. I 
don't believe I'm a depravcfl, unregenerate villain; 
but before I have time to dis])lay a penitence which 
seems to present the most reasonable method of es- 

68 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

cape the "subject" tunes up again and the ladies tiy to 
its rehef once more. 

Bless the baby! I never thought, when I started 
in, to use that expression. I'm afraid I often came 
nearer to a much more common-place verb. Hope 
she'll cry long enough to keep 'em up stairs till they all 
fall asleep and I can crawl up to the odd room and 
find cold comfort and sound sleep, perhaps. I am just 
beginning to flatter myself that my scheme is going to 
be successful when a frightful sound strikes upon my 
ear. 

"Dad! dad! da! da!" 

Heavens, it can't be true! The women hear it, and 
in their malice they are about to wreak a fearful ven- 
geance upon me. I rise and am about to rush for the 
door when the angular form of my wife's dear mother 
meets me in the hall. "Are you going out, Mr. X?" 

"Going out? out? Lor' no! That is, I — yes — for a 
minute — I " 

"Is 'oo naughty papa gfoing out when its pretty 
lipsy-pipsy call its dad, dad, da! No, um ain't going 
out." 

The last fearful hash of baby talk comes from my 
consort herself. 

She's right! Bless her! No "um" ain't going out, 
and "um" don't. 

And the next thing I know a snowy heap is 
plumped into mv arms, and I go back to the side of 
the stove, with the laughing, kicking, sprawling "sub- 
ject." She tugs at my beard until the water starts into 
my eyes from the pain, and then she pats my rough 
cheek with her velvet ])aw, and coos "Dad, dad," 
again, till all the Roman father disappears. 

Roman fathers be hanged! Unnatural, pig-headed 
brutes! It was proper that the Goths and the Van- 

69 



SUMGS AND ARROWS 

dais should have buried them beyond resurrection. 
"Crow, you vixen, crow!" Lor', how she crows, to be 
sure! "Fly!" and I hold the puss up aloft on my ex- 
tended hand, while she kicks out her little legs in a 
style vigon)us enough for a Cavalazzi. And then she 
comes down, laughing and crowing and smiling, with 




her blue love-lit eyes fixed on mine, till the wee arms 
slide around my neck, and, murmuring "dad, dad!" 
again — what a wonderful power of expression she has, 
by the way, in those two syllables! — sinks the little 
head contentedly on my breast and laughs again in my 
face till I stoop down to the "subject" and kiss it. 
Who said anything of Roman fathers and abandoned 
infants? Bless my little pet; why, I wouldn't change 
one dimple of your dear little baby face for the whole 
Roman empire, the twelve C?esars and Mother Grac- 
chi to boot. 

And so the "subject" becomes the sovereign; 
70 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

ruling completely and righteously by right of love and 
helplessness. And we sit down — my wife and I — and 
look into the infant's face with tear-dimmed eyes, for 
we believe we can trace a resemblance to the brave 
boy who left us two years ago, and we wonder if our 
hope that another son might come to help fill the 
awful void is not answered by the wee morsel that is 
now chuckling over its success in getting its dainty 
pink big toe between her toothless gums. 

And though we were sleepy before, we sit down 
contented and happy, watching every sunny gleam 
that sparkles in the bonnie blue eyes of the "subject," 
and yet thinking of the grave that holds all that is 
mortal of our little household saint, till the baby's face 
is transfigured by a wondrous light; and in the depths 
of those blue eyes we see the hopes and joys of years 
yet to come, and ere the little head droops peacefully 
on my vest, and the laughing eyes are closed, we are 
filled to overflowing with gratitude for what has been 
given — and harder lesson yet — for what has been 
taken. In this silent communion we softly steal up 
stairs, where the two older girls have been preparing 
fOr rest. These, kneeling at our feet, lisp, "Our Father 
which art in heaven,"" and the old, yet wondrous new 
words kindle into flame by the interpretation of our 
own love — till "Our Father"' vibrates on our lips, and 
we become — -thank God, even if it is for a brief space — 
children once more, and sink to rest with His name on 
our lips and His joy in our hearts. 



71 



SLINGS AND ARIWH'S 



H Olbitc Lie. 



H Cruc Story of the Cimc of tJrial at Gettysburg. 



Already it is safe to say that no battle of modern 
times, not even excepting Waterloo, has been the sub- 
ject of so much discussion as Gettysburg. The shade 
of the late Archbishop Whately, of Dublin, who once 
settled some of the interminable controversies on the 
First Napoleon by proving, according to the strict 
rules of logic, that no such person ever existed, might 
almost be invoked to settle forever the multitudinous 
disputes about this battlefield. In the interests of uni- 
versal peace, it may yet be necessary to logically prove 
that no battle of Gettysburg took place, and that the 
story of the fight, is, like the legend of Hercules, only 
a modernized version of some folk-lore tradition or a 
relic or fragment of some sun myth. 

Fears of such a fate might well silence controversy, 
and induce the many differing historians to settle 
down on the hard basis of "agreed fictions," which the 
average man is satisfied to call "history." 

But the fact that a battle was fought at Gettysburg, 
nearly thirty-eight years ago, is at present incontest- 
able and there are yet living — long life be their por- 
tion! — thousands whose knowledge of the fight not 
even a logical archbishop nor a whole college of meta- 
physical cardinals could explain away. 

In the company of many of these it was the privi- 
lege of the writer to spend a few days. Guided by 

72 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

them and others who had made a study of the famous 
battlefield, the ground was thoroughly traversed, and 
even the non-military spectator could not resist the 
enthusiasm and energy with which the veterans of the 
tremendous battle told the thrilling- story. The whole 
scene became once more clouded with the smoke of 
conflict. Cemetery and Seminary ridges, Zeigler's 
farm, the Wheat field, Cadore's house, the little Round 
Top, Gulp's Hill and all the other spots of historic 
note, were again swarming with the Blue and Gray, 
and Pickett's charge became a grim reality once more. 
Here and there, as the line of monuments now mark- 
ing the positions of the various organizations was 
reached, the story of the battle was centred in the 
thrilling tales of individual combat. It was no longer 
a scene where armies — vague and shadowy aggrega- 
tions of units — grappled. The scene took on a per- 
sonal interest. One points to where a tried comrade 
fell — "first killed in our regiment;" shot through the 
throat; "there stood our battery;" there again was the 
scene of a desperate hand to hand encounter as the 
impetuous Southerner essayed to break down the stub- 
born resistance of the sturdy Northern men. 

It is well that the battlefield should thus be marked. 
The mind almost refuses to grasp the full story of the 
titanic contest. Yet standing upon ground made his- 
torically sacred to all time by its heroic association, 
the individualism of which one has been recently 
thinking seems incongruous — almost absurd. 

Here the foot presses the ground w^hich indicates 
"the high water mark of the rebellion." Here where 
springs the grass beneath us. on which the patient kine 
are contentedly grazing, the tide of bloody rebellion 
reached its highest limit, only to recede in foam, stead- 
ily rolled back till it spent its last effort in impotent 

73 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

waste near the spot where in awful majesty it seemed 
ready to engulf the Union in its dreadful surge. 

Gettysburg was a Sleepy Hollow. Here in this old 
town — hoary, as colonial Pennsylvania goes — the low 
brick houses have their first-floor windows guarded 
with grnn-looking shutters, which when closed seem 
to shut in the household from the cares and anxieties 
of the outside world. No compromises are made 
by means of jalo.usies or blinds, which permit the 
sacred light of the home circle to be wasted on the 
conmion street. The heavy shutters are not needed 
to dull the noise and bustle of the busy street, for there 
is no noise and bustle, save when some band of preda- 
tory excursionists or lively veterans from far-ofif cities 
wakes for a time the dull echoes of life in Gettysburg 
town. 

Into this primitive, sleepy old burg, in the summer 
of 1863 came a rumor which galvanized it into anxious, 
serious life. The war which had been going on "down 
South" was yet far distant, and only by the exercise of 
a livelier imagination than the town could boast of 
could its far-reaching import be imagined. True, 
many a father, husband and brother had gone into the 
ranks of the gallant quota of the Keystone State, and 
here and there a furloughed, a maimed or a discharged 
soldier might be seen, and his experiences formed the 
subject of many a "committee on the conduct of the 
war" which sat in every corner grocery of the land, 
and strategetically defeated Lee, wliilt that great 
captain refused to be beaten by the official Union com- 
manders. 

Now war was a reality. Men shook their heads 
dubiously; corner grocery strategists even failed to 
draw comfort from their easy victories. 

Not that patriotic feelings were lacking. The 
74 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

students of the University and the Seminary, the- 
ologues and secular, laid down the gown for the 
sword. But they were at the threatened State capital, 
and the absence of the young men who made the town 
decorously and demurely lively, only gave a deeper 
and more sombre tint to the prevailing depression. 

Some fled — very few; the stay-at-homes would 
average as well as anywhere. Most of the people 
waited with anxiety that sometimes bordered on terror 
for the result, which few dared hope would be favor- 
able to the Union arms. An army often beaten and 
baffled was coming to try conclusions with the almost 
invincible invaders. It was learned that a new, but 
almost unknown commander was at the head of the 
force. The only gleam of comfort was that he was 
George E. Meade, a Pennsylvanian, and when did 
not State pride, like charity, cover a multitude of 
shortcomings ! 

So the last days of June, 1863, in Gettysburg wore 
away, the townspeople alternating between hope an( 
fear. 

The solitary telegraph operator had an office in a 
little dry goods store on the main street of the little 
burg, just opposite the Lutheran church, which a 
few days later was a hospital filled with dead, dying 
and sorely wounded men. In this little store dwelt 
two sisters, who by patient industry had made a busi- 
ness on which they managed to live quietly and com- 
fortably, as the standard of the sleepy town consid- 
ered prosperity. 

If they had been disposed to leave, which was very 
unlikely, they could not. Here at the little store, in 
the house, in the town, were centred all about which 
their life moved and had its being, and here they stood, 
not wholly comprehending the import of the impend- 

75 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

ing storm, but strong in their determination to remain 
and face it, though hfe itself were the penaUv. 

There was a special danger in the companionship of 
the telegraph. Not only did its tell-tale click give forth 
advance notes of terror that paled the cheek and caused 
even strong men to shudder at the approaching time 
of trial, and that kept the nerves in perpetual tension, 
hut it was felt that this was likely to be the first place 
to be visited by the hostile troops, and that the slight- 
est resistance at this point might l)e the ])recursor of 
the worst calamity. 

But, it had ha])i:)encd in other places — it might 
happen there — that the telegraph office, if it fell into 
the hands of the enemy, would be used to the disad- 
vantage of the Union army. False messages, purport- 
ing to come from Union sources, had more than once 
endangered the safety of the Northern armies, and 
many a clever capture had been made by means of 
false telegrams which enterprising raiders had com- 
pelled operators to send. 

And the operator, a mere lad, perhaps had no relish 
for the crown of martyrdom. At any rate the two sis- 
ters put their heads together, and arranged that a fast 
horse should be in readiness so that when the first note 
of alarm should be given the vvires might be cut. and 
the lad with the much-coveted instrument should be 
enabled to reach a place of safety out of the way of the 
enterprising cavalryman whose name was even then a 
terror to the people of the North. 

It came sooner than was expected. A messenger, 
breathless with hard riding and pale with fear, brought 
the tidings that the dreaded cavalry was approaching. 
Looking curiously out over the road, it w-as not long 
before the first body of men — a very few — were seen 
descending the hill above the town, on the Chambers- 

76 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

burg pike. Then with a hurried message northward 
the wires were cut, the fleet, black horse mounted, and 
as the foremost cavalrymen entered the httle town, 
and under guide of one of the Gettysburg folk headed 
direct for the telegraph office, the lad. with the prec- 
ious instrument in his liand, disappeared in the op- 
posite direction. 

To lock the door and retu^-n upstairs, in the vague 
hope that she might escape inquiry, was the work of a 
few moments. "Miss Mary" — many a wounded sol- 
dier of the Gettysburg fight will gratefully remember 
her by this name, and it is not worth while giving the 
other, — had been but a few moments upstairs, in an 
agony of trepidation, when the troop halted before 
the door, and a peremptory summons was pealed upon 
its panels. 

After a diplomatic delay, the head of the lady ap- 
peared from the u])per story. Every moment gained 
was of supreme advantage, but she was keen-witted 
enough not to exasperate the cavalry officer below, 
and so she wisely undertook to come down stairs and 
open the door. It was time. Though only a few min- 
utes had been gained, the threat of breaking in the 
door was already about to be put into practice. 

The officer in command of the detachment, im- 
patient at the delay, rapped again on the door in a 
very unceremonious manner, and a kick of his heavy 
boots plainly told the unwilling and now alarmed in- 
mates of the house that his call was not of the most 
formal or polite character. 

At last the inner bolts were withdrawn. It is just 
possible that in the quiet little town of Gettysburg, 
bolts, bars and locks were seldom used. At any rate 
the task of unlocking the door proceeded with a de- 
liberation by no means pleasing to the Southern 

77 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

officer outside, who was heard to express his im- 
patience in no j^entle tones, and emphasize his remarks 
by a kick, which the door bore as stoHdly as s^ood 
wood put together by stolid Dutchmen alone could do. 

But everything- must have an end, even the un- 
locking of a stubborn door by unwilling hands, and 
the pale face of "Miss Marv" confronted the weather- 
beaten, stern face of the soldier. 

"You have taken your time, madam," said the 
officer, sternly. 

"The door was always hard to unlock," she tried 
to answer; but she was interrupted by the officer, who 
had entered the little store and was busily engaged, in 
company with one of his men, in searching it. 

"Where is the operator?" he demanded, as his eyes 
fell on the severed wires, and the little desk, which 
seemed, w^ith its papers and blanks, to be yet "warm"" 
with life. 

"Gone," she answered, with trembling lips. 

"Gone where?" 

"T — I — don't know. He went away on horse- 
back " 

The officer's eyes flashed. He pulled a pistol from 
its case in his belt, and pointed it at the trembling 
woman. 

"Put it down! put it down!" she shrieked. "It 
might go oflf!" 

"Yes," answered the cavalryman, grimly. "It 
might, and it will, if vou do not answer my questions 
truthfully." 

"Where is the telegraph operator gone?" he con- 
tinued, emphasizing his question by a suggestive 
movement of the weapon. 

"I don't know," answered Aliss Mary. 

The soldier looked at her long and earnestly, and 
78 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

apparently satisfied that she had spoken the truth, as 
indeed she had, accepted the answer. 

"How long has he been g-one?" The question was 
a crucial one. If answered truthfully it meant the cap- 
ture of the operator, the collapse of the whole scheme, 
and it might be worse disaster to the Union cause than 
even seemed to be imminent. The few roads leading 
out of the city could be easily scoured, and the opera- 
tor run down and captured. 

Miss Mary hesitated. There was no resource but 
falsehood. She had no time to discuss the matter with 
herself, nor to reason how the falsehood was justified. 
Rut falsehood was as foreign to her nature as blood- 
shed, and she hesitated. 

The pistol was again raised; and the stern face of 
the holder seemed to present no signs of relenting. 

"Answer me," he said fiercely — "And mind, now, 
the truth. 

"About two hours and a half or three hours," she 
stammered, in an agony of terror, for the shining bar- 
rel of the revolver gleamed before her, and the eyes of 
her questioner seemed full of deadly purpose. 

The soldier watched her face for a moment and 
then slowly dropped his pistol. At the same moment 
the lines of his face relaxed, and he placed his hand on 
the trembling woman, not roughly, but as if he would 
hold her, she appearing almost ready to faint. 

"Who else is in the house?" he demanded, after a 
slight pause. 

"Mv sister. I think, sir," she answered. 

"Call her here." 

Miss Mary went to the little back room; she longed 
to go to her sister, but the harsh voice of her visitor 
bade her stay. He had no intention of permitting con- 
ference between them. 

79 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

The other woman came down, if possible more 
friy;htene(l than her sister, yet equally resolute in her 
purpose to betray nothing. 

"What has become of the telegraph operator?" he 
asked. 

It was an awful moment. The falsehood, which a 
few moments before had seemed excusable, now 
showed before Miss Mary's eyes as full of awful 
danger, and her sister's answer to his question she felt, 
might be her own death warrant. 

But there was no longer trepidation or timidity. 
The pistol was no longer a source of fear. She faced 
its terrible muzzle with eyes from which every trace 
of fear had departed and with a prayer for help listened 
for the answer with terrible eagerness. 

It came at last. Sister Jane glanced at her sister, 
but no words passed. She raised her eyes to the Con- 
federate cavalryman and answered: 

"He cut the wires, took the instrument, and rode 
away on horseback.'' 

"How long ago?'' 

The question was emphasized, as in the previous 
case, by the presentation of the pistol. 

Sister Jane saw it, but she did not shrink from it. 

"About two hours and a half or three hours," she 
said calmly. 

The officer's face fell. He placed the pistol in his 
belt, and muttered something of apology for his rough 
method of inquiry, but accepted the answers, and 
started to search the house. 

The answers of the two sisters were purely acci- 
dental and the coincidence of the surely excusable 
falsehood was, it may be supposed, a source of joy to 
both. 

In the days that followed the two sisters tenderly 
80 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

nursed the wounded of tlie great battle, and among 
those who heard the tale of her "first falsehood" as it 
fell from her lips, were soldiers who had been the re- 
cipients of her tender care as nurse, in the days of 
agony which followed the fight, when the little church 
across the street was a hospital. 

Twenty-two years after. Miss Mary, standing in 
the little shop, told the story related above to those 
who came to make a call of gratitude upon her. 



^Cwas 6ver Cbu9» 



A narrow road, with twining branches bowered; 

A pair of lovers whispering in the shade; 
A sigh, a blusli, a softly-whispered "yes," 

A kiss — and thus the old, old contract's made. 

TEN YEARS AFTER. 
Three pairs of toeless boots require renewing; 

Three boys are waiting for the happy chance, 
That "dad" can buy another pair of breeches 

(His old ones going to the boys for pants). 
A grocer's bill to meet, the winter's fuel lacking; 

Rent day next week, and school-books to be had; 
The problem how to make one dollar fifty. 

Forever pressing on the happy "dad." 

TWELVE YEARS LATER. 

Three lovers o'er three maidens softly bending; 

Six hearts that beat as three, and never sever; 

The same old problems looming in the distance, — 

And thus the merry world goes on forever. 

8i 



SUNOS AND ARROWS 



H Cold Snap. 



' 'Colder and clear,' the 'Indications' say," 

The well-fed citizen at breakfast reading; 
'Just what we want. We'll take the pair to-day, 

Over the road the merry party leading.'' 
Another wrap for Madame, a foot-warmer, 

To keep the cold from off her dainty feet, 
A thicker ulster, warmer gloves, — and driving 

In clear, cold weather is a royal treat. 

A fall of snoAV, a few degrees more frost, 
Is only change from carriole to sleigh ; 

For life is full of pleasure, and the days, 
Or cold or warm, pass merrily away. 

Cut, ah, the wind which fans your rosy-cheek 

Might whisper make of other scenes than these, 
As rushing from its Arctic home it swept 

In vengeful fury o'er the maddened seas. 
Of sailors on the high and giddy mast, 

Of numbed hands that clutch a frozen sail, 
A misstep on the icy rope, and death 

Amid the fury of the winter gale. 

More fuel! The chill wind shrieks and wails. 

And bends before its breath the leafless trees; 
Along the city's margin groups appear. 

Who, like you, Madame, seek their body's ease. 
Amid the city's rubbish, eager raking. 

Your sisters seek to snatch a half-burned ember; 
For these have kindred wants, and coals are dear, 

As dear as life, Madame, in chill December. 
82 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Z^bc ^^Rctrojcction'^ of 

Didymus jf^ncs. 



Didymus Jones was a man of excellent and elegant 
leisure. He believed in ease. True, he had no special 
need to work. He had been born with a silver spoon 
in his mouth, and save a natural desire to do good to 
his less fortunate fellow-citizens, provided it involved 
no expenditure of energy, he had little incentive to 
labor. Jones was willing enough to be good in a 
passive way — to spend money for good purposes, but 
he utterly declined to exert himself in the matter. 

His wealth, the result of a long life of labor by his 
father, had come to him with the solemn injunction to 
rest and be thankful. Jones faithfully carried out his 
father's wishes. If he had any ambition, which was 
exceedingly doubtful, it was to inaugurate a Bostonese 
Nirvana of "changeless, perfect rest." 

Had Didymus been an energetic comrade the 
natural abbreviation of his name would have been 
"Did" or "Diddy.'' Among his acquaintances the gen- 
ial Jones was known as "Didn't," and as he never 
willingly began and certainly never finished a task, 
the name was singularly appropriate. 

It was entirely in accordance with the fitness of 
things that Jones, who disliked exertion of any kind, 
felt the greatest pleasure in witnessing or reading of 
the industrial achievements of others, while his favor- 
ite subjects of study — for he could study — were treat- 
ises on the "conservation of energy," and he could go 

83 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

into raptures over a new storage battery. A wicked 
wag at the Algonquin who addressed him as "Latent 
Jones," very nearly fastened a new name on him. 

Fortunately for Didymus his domestic life was a 
well-ordered one, and everything went by a carefullv 
devised system. He was always well dressed, because 
he had acquired excellent habits of personal neatness 
before "he had entered into his rest," and a con- 
scientious tailor, who knew his value as an advertise- 
ment, took care that the languid Jones was neither 
shabby nor unfashionable. 

Yet there was one pursuit in which Jones came as 
near being energetic as was possible without danger 
to his i)ersonal reputation. He was a scholar, because, 
being blessed with a prodigious memory, and exer- 
cising a wise taste in reading, he had become the mas- 
ter of a mass of information which it would have taken 
others years to have patiently gathered together. He 
came marvelously near l)eing industrious in the pur- 
suit of his favorite hobby, the anticjuities of Boston. 
Jones was a descendant of one of the first families, and 
he had in the opinion and somewhat slangy language 
of his club associates, the pedigree of his family down 
as "fine as silk," though in the case of Jones' imme- 
diate progenitor "as fine as a waxed end" would have 
been more appropriate. 

The North End of Boston was Jones' favorite 
haunt. His excellent memory served him as note and 
text book alike. He was so well known down on 
Salem or Charter Street or in the neighborhood of 
Copp's Hill, that the cosmopolitans of that locality 
offered him every facilitv for examining sites or study- 
ing interiors, well knowing that Jones had not only 
a kindly greeting as polyglottic as the varying nation- 
alities of the people demanded, but a pocketful of small 

84 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

change, which had a habit of leaping spontaneously 
into the dirty paw of any Jew or Gentile who accosted 
him. 

It was at the close of a warm day in summer and 
Jones had had an unusually long- perambulation in his 
favorite haunt in an urgent endeavor to settle the 
boundary of some pious ancestor's land and house, 
which he had accidentally discovered. He had been 
successful, and had returned to his snug bachelor 
apartments, which, to be judiciously ambiguous, were 
not a hundred miles from the Somerset Club. 

After his faithful domestics had done their best to 
make him comfortable, Didymus Jones sat at his ease 
in a luxurious chair, watching the smoke of a free 
burning Reina Victoria, as it rose in fragrant spirals 
to the ceiling. 

It was decidedly comfortable, with a cool breeze 
blowing over the tops of the trees on the Common, 
and a pleasant rhythm in the air, comforting to 
every sense. The electric light, softened by dainty 
shades, had just begun to struggle with the fast gath- 
ering gloom of the outside world, or to tip with a 
fairy gleam the objects of "bigotry and virtue" with 
which the tasteful Jones had decorated his room. One 
wicked gleam fell upon the brass-headed ebony con- 
stable's stafT, which was one of Didymus's treasures. 
It was the badge of office of an ancestor whom Jones 
had recently discovered. On the floor at the side of 
his chair lay the half-opened volume of a reprint of 
Colonial Laws, and Jones in the intervals of smoking, 
and occasionally catching a gleam from the brass- 
fipped constable's stafT repeated: — 

"And that no man may plead ignorance for such 
neglect or refusal; it is ordered, that every Constable 
shall have a Black Staff, of five foot long. Tipped at 

B5 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

the upper end about five inches with brass, as a badge 
of his Office, which he shall take with him when he 
goeth to discharge any part of his Office." 

And here it will always reniahi a mystery to Jones 
just why — thougli he used to say that the wicked 
gleam of the constable's staff had nuich to do with it — 
why he very deliberately rose from his seat, dressed 
himself without the assistance of his valet, and started 
for Copp's Hill, which he had left but a few hours 
before. 

It was with scarcely an effort of body or mind that 
he succeeded in reaching the old cemetery, which, 
singularly enough, seemed wrapped in an im- 
penetrable white mist. If Didynms Jones had not 
been familiar with every inch of the locality, and al- 
most every variety of its smell, he might have felt 
strange. As it was he put out his hand to grasp the 
latch of the cemetery gate, but it somehow failed to 
reach his fingers. 

Before he had time to speculate on the narrow 
extent of the mist he saw the cloud roll up before him 
as a curtain, or as a morning mist rolls up on a hill- 
side when the sun begins to show its power. 

And what a change the cloud had concealed! 

It was no wonder that ])idynuis Jones had failed 
to find the latch. The gate and railing had disap- 
peared, and a grassy slope, only partly fenced in at 
one point, stood there, instead of the old cemetery as 
he had last seen it. There were no curious old slab 
tombstones, inclining at all sorts of angles, and im- 
peding the free movement of his feet. Only the long 
grass now obstructed his movements, and that had 
been much trodden. The sound of a drum caught his 
ear, and as he looked in the direction from which the 
martial tones proceeded, he saw the last files of some 

86 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

quaintly equipped soldiery disappearing down the 
easterly slope of the hill, just where to his certain 
knowledge the "new" burying ground and part ot 
Salem Street had been but a few hours before. 

Only a few graves were to be seen, and on these 
the new blue slate headstones showed the cheerful 
skull and crossbones, and the names and dates as 
fresh as if they had just left the stone mason's hands. 

It was a marvelous transformation. Jones rubbed 
his eves and then, as a thought flashed across his mmd, 
he mentallv consigned the whole board of aldermen 
street and' park commissioners, superintendent ot 
commons and public burying grounds, and all the 
other officials, whom he imagined were responsible 
for thus obliterating one of the most notable historical 
relics of Boston, to a warmer climate than New Eng- 
land. 

As might be expected Jones had a great reverence 
for his ancestors. Hoping against hope, he strode 
through the long grass, unobstructed as has been said, 
bv anv crumbling stones or mounds, and made his 
way to the spot where were the graves which he had 
long since taken special care should be well looked 

after. . , , 

What he should have seen was a time-worn slab 
of slate commemorating the virtues of "Grace-Suf- 
ficient Jones and his beloved wife. Obedient Jones. 
What he did see was a bare expanse of turf, showing 
plainly that it had not been tampered with for a long 
time, and there was no sign of a grave. 

The o-rassv slope of Copp's Hill invited Jones to 

• wander a little farther. He walked, wondering at 

every step whv he was not blocked by the railing on 

the westerly slope. There was no railing. What was 

more remarkable, there was no gashouse, with the 

87 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

black smoke from a liundrcd furnaces rising up to the 
skies. There were no wharves; no Commercial street. 
The blue water of the Charles actually kissed the peb- 
bly strand at his feet, and flowed down past the hill, 
unvexed by bridge or ship. 

The Hoosac Tunnel docks, with their ugly sheds 
and huge steamers, had also gone. So had the navy 
yard. The "Wabash" had sailed ofif into space, and 
had taken the Bunker Hill monument, the VVaverley 
House and a whole collection of spires and roofs, with 
her. 

East Boston and Chelsea were represented by beau- 
tiful wooded slopes and smooth greensward, but only 
one or two houses were visible. 

A few low-studded houses, comparatively new, yet 
of antique plainness, stood at right angles to the 
beach, and formed a short street, at the end of which 
was a large frame house, almost new, but remarkably 
ancient in its general plan. 

'J'liere was something very familiar to Jones in this 
picture. For a moment he puzzled himself with it, 
and then remarked that it was almost a reproduction 
of a sketch he had been too lazy to commit to paper, 
but had outlined in his mind, of the old Town House 
at Charlestown, built by Winthrop's party in 1630. 

"I must be dreaming," said Jones, rubbing his eyes 
once more. He pinched himself in the endeavor to 
settle the question, and then again conscious of the 
vandalism of the before-recited commissions or com- 
mittees, he gave vent to a further tirade of objurgation, 
mixed with more profanity than the guileless and 
placid Jones had ever before been guilty of. 

The course of his eloquence was rudely inter- 
rupted. A strong grasp was laid on his shoulder, and 
a stern voice said in his ear: 'T arrest thee, Didymus 

88 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Jones, ill the name of the General Court of Massa- 
chusetts Bay." 

"Eh! What's that?" shouted Jones, with more 
energ-y than he had displayed for a year before. 
"What's that? Who in thunder are you? 

Who, indeed? 

The individual, who held a long black staff, tipped 
with brass, before the e)'es of the astonished Didymus, 
might have walked out of the old South Museum. 
He wore a long cloak, which covered a plain home- 
spun coat, and his short breeches terminated at the 
knees. Thence a pair of thick black stockings joined 
company at the calf with boots of unvarnished leather, 
on the instep of each of which gleamed a large silver 
buckle. 

"Who art thou, who speakest so lightly and pro- 
fanely?" rejoined the stranger, sternly. "A malapert 
spirit, drunken with the vanities of this fleeting life, 
which have profited thee nothing, but have become a 
mere snare to thy soul and a pitfall to thy feet." 

"All this may be very true," said Jones, calmly, 
lapsing into his habitually indolent style, "but you 
will greatly oblige me by removing your clumsy hand 
with its ill-shapen nails and calloused integument, 
from my shoulder." 

"I arrest thee, Didymus Jones, in the name of the 
Great and General Court of the Colony of Massachu- 
setts." 

"Well, you got as far as that before," said Jones, 
quite placidly. "Suppose you start in afresh just at 
the end of the word 'Massachusetts' and tell me what 
you arrest me for." 

"Being idle, and as one who spendeth his time 
unprofitably — by authority of the Act of the General 
Court, 1663, wherein 'power is given to constables to 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

briiii^ before a magistrate all such as are using their 
time idly and unprofitably, or such as do without just 
and necessary cause, absent themselves from the pub- 
lic ministry of the Word, as ordained by the statute of 
1646, and enjoined by the ordinances of the Church; 
or for such excess in apparel, constantly exhibited, as 
is unbecoming to our wilderness condition, seeing that 
we are but strangers and sojourners here, and that the 
Court hath taken notice with grief that intolerable ex- 
cess and bravery hath crept in among us, and espe- 
cially among people of mean condition, to the dis- 
honor of God, the' scandal of our ])rofession, the con- 
sumption of estate and altogether unsuitable to our 
poverty ,"' 

"Hold on a minute," shrieked Didymus. "My dear 
fellow I'm not a lightning speed receptive phonograph. 
Begin over again; take a fresh grip; fill your lungs, 
and tell me who you are, and what you mean by mas- 
(|uerading in this fashion at my expense. And, once 
more, be good enough to remove your hand, it isn't 
pretty and is scarcely wholesome, from my shoulder." 

"My name is Jones," said the officer, "once called 
after the manner of men, Thomas " 

"Otherwise Didymus." murmured Diddy. 

"Never," said the other, indignantly. "Never Didy- 
mus, or the doubting one, but for a testimony of faith 
named Grace-Sufficient Jones, constable of the town 
of Boston, and I arrest thee for idleness and unprofit- 
able living, by virtue of the authority of which this 
stafif is the figure and symbol.'' 

"Say, Grace-Sufficient Jones," drawled Didymus, 
"if you'll drop your hand, and answer me one or two 
questions I will go with you quietly." 

The hand of Constable Jones dro])ped from the 
shoulder of Didymus as agreeing to these conditions. 

90 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"First and foremost," said Didynius, looking" his 
captor squarely in the face, "Am I awake or only 
dreaming?"' 

"I should say," replied Constable Grace-Sufificicnt 
Jones, "that, speaking after the manner of the Spirit, 
thou wert given to idle dreaming, and that much time 
has been thereby wasted. Wherefore thou art also 
given to fellowship with the unfruitful works of dark- 
ness, and it becometh thee to hear the words of the 
Spirit in reproof. 'Wherefore," He saith, 'Awake thou 
that sleepest, and arise from the dead " 

"But, speaking after the manner of the flesh," 
drawled Didymus, interrupting his loquacious com- 
panion, "do you think I am asleep or dreaming?" 

A sharp rap from the staff in the hands of Con- 
stable Jones sufficed to show to both that if the ques- 
tioner were asleep he was, at least, susceptible to pain. 

"I should say that thou art awake," said the con- 
stable, grimly. 

"I believe I must be," said Jones. "But please 
don't try any more experiments with that staff. It is 
curious in its get up of black and brass; is just five 
feet high and has five inches of l^rass at top as di- 
rected by the statute of 1660. I'd like to buy it for my 
collection. That reminds that I am not at all sure 
where I am." 

"This is Copp's Hill," said Grace-Sufficient Jones, 
"named after that godly man of whose estate it once 
formed a portion." 

"Thanks — awfully," said Didymus. "Now will you 
kindly tell me what year this is?" 

Grace-Sufficient Jones looked for a moment at 
Didymus as if he did not understand him. Then with 
an air of one humoring a lunatic he said: "This is the 
year of grace 1664." 

91 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"Ah!'' said Didynius, with more cahimess than the 
startHng revelation would seem to warrant, "I've often 
heard of fellows being pitched into the middle of next 
week, but always supposed it to be a mere figure of 
speech. If what you say is true, Mr. G.-S. Jones, I've 
been projected (or is it retrojected?) into the middle 
of the 17th century. Therefore there must be ])lenly 
of interesting information to be had from you, and if 
I ever get back into 1899 again I may make use of it. 
You can't be very busy just now. 

"Now, by way of a starter," said Didymus, "I had 
an ancestor who came over with John Winthrop in 
the 'Arbella.' " 

"The ship I came over in," said Grace-Sufficient 
Jones, "but I was young then, and my father '' 

"Named Morgan- Ap-Griffith Jones,'' interrupted 
Didymus. 

"So named after the manner of the world; but, for 
a testimony he called himself 'When-they-persecut- 
you-in-one-city-flee-unto-another Jones,' and so he 
came over here." 

"Leaving other fellows to do the fighting ten years 
later," said Didymus, calmly. "And you are his son?"' 
he asked. 

"I am his son," said Grace-Sufficient, sententiously. 

"What position did Morgan- Ap-Griffith hold?'' 
asked Didymus. 

"He was a preacJier of the Word, wise with godly 
knowledge of the soul, and skilled likewise in heal- 
ing." 

"So was my father," said Didymus, "but the wicked 
called him 'Wax-end Jones.' Yet, if I have correctly 
read the genealogy of my family, you are my ever-so- 
many-times-great-grandfather, who was constable of 
the town of Boston." 

92 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

The discovery of this relationship seemed to strike 
Didymus Jones as very funny. He rolled over and 
over again, shrieking with laughter and fairly holding 
his sides. 

When he had recovered from this paroxysm, which 
his companion simply regarded as the freak of some 
madman, he said more calmly: 

"Master Grace-Sufficient Jones, did you ever be- 
fore hear of a man being arrested 200 years before he 
was born bv his ever-so-many-times great grand- 
father?'' 

Constable Jones frowned. Such levity was entirely 
unbecoming and showed that the young man was not 
only in the bonds of iniquity, but that he was likely to 
exercise a pernicious influence. Besides if there was 
any anachronism, it was not on his side; and, anyway, 
he had not the least idea what Didymus was driving 
at. 

Constable Jones placed his hand once more on the 
shoulders of his putative ever-so-many-times-great- 
grandson, and said with a Brutus-like indifference to 
the ties of blood: "I have no time for trifling; come 
with me." 

"Really?" said Jones, without making the slightest 
attempt to move. 

"Yes and at once. Peradventure IMaster Wads- 
worth will dispose of your case now." 

"Much obliged, I'm sure, but I'd rather not. You 
see I'm interested in arch?eology, but I'd rather not l^e 
an actor in any of its scenes. I don't mind saying that 
I like you from an ancestral, artistic and antiquarian 
standpoint, but I never really admired you or your 
people's methods from a practical point of view." 

"Peace.'' said the constable, sternly. "There is 
overmuch of vain babbling." 

93 



SLINGS AXD ARROWS 

Tlie heavy hand grew heavier on Didymiis Jones' 
slioukler. He began to reahze that unless he made a 
fight for it, there were no means of getting away, and 
a glance at the sturdy limbs of (Irace-Sufificient had 
a mollifying efYect on the faint suggestion of belliger- 
enc}- which had arisen in his mind. 

"Well, needs must when the devil drives " 

"There is vile profanity in your talk!" said the con- 
stable, angrily. "If thy master is the devil who goeth 
about like a roaring lion seeking the blood of the 
saints, at least hold thy peace, lest this, too, be a charge 
against thee."' 

"Oh, no, good Jones,"' said Did\inus. "Xot the 
least profanity is intended, I assure you. The devil 
has long since ceased to be anything but a figure of 
speech. On the whole I'd rather not go with you, 
friend Grace-Sufificient Jones, son of 'When-they- 
persecute - you - in-one - citv- flee -unto -another Jones." 
Let us continue to argue the matter. In my callow 
days I studied law a little and have been admitted to 
the bar. Where is your warrant for arresting me?" 

"I need no warrant," said the constable, curtly. 
"The ordinances of this godly town empower the con- 
stable to arrest such as appear to be leading idle and 
unprofitable lives, and bring them forthwith to a mag- 
istrate " 

"Now, Grace-Sufificient Jones,'' said Diddy, after 
he had turned over several things in his mind. "It 
seems to me that as you have acted without warrant 
on this occasion you would be likely to get into 
trouble, if you persist in arresting me. It can be shown 
to the satisfaction of any magistrate that my seem-ingly 
idle life is one of meditation and self communion, — 
things not interdicted either by express law of the 
colony, or, where that fails, by the law of the 'Word.' 

94 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

So, if I may be permitted to drop into the vernacular, 
which is frequently picturesque, if not elegant, you 
had better go slow; not so very slow, you know, but 
just slow enough. Twiggez-vous?" 

"I do not understand," said Constable Jones. 

"Let me explain, then. I have merely dropped 
into a habit of mine, using a little French, in order to 
make myself easily understood. 'Twig' is to tumble, 
to catch on; to understand. See?*^ 

Constable Jones nodded. 

"In short,'"' continued his now voluble descendant, 
" 'Twiggez-vous' means to catch on, as birds catch on 
to a twig; 'vous' is French for 'you;' so that literally 
translated the expression means: 'Does your gigan- 
tic intellect freely absorb and assimilate the hidden 
meaning that lieth in my before-recited speech?'" 

"Does it mean all that?" said Grace-SuiBcient 
Jones, dropping his staff and staring with open- 
mouthed astonishment at his ever-so-great grandson. 

"That's what it can be condensed into by a little 
squeezing. If instead of merely explaining this to you 
verbally, I was writing at space rates in a magazine, 
it would take considerably more room for its elucida- 
tion. See?" 

Grace-Sufficient Jones nodded again. In the pres- 
ence of such verbal opulence he was dazed completely. 
"It seems to me," he said at length, "that thou art a 
scholar, and given to the seeking of discourses. Albeit 
even that might be a snare, if the discourse be not 
grounded on the rock of sound doctrine." 

"I believe you, my boy," said Diddy, irreverently. 
"It falls from my lips like the distilled honey from the 
bees of Hymettus, or the dews of Hermon, which is, 
perhaps, more in your line. But all this is switching 
the argument on to another track (a 19th century 

95 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

metaphor which I haven't time to explain just now). 
The great question is, will you put aside that staff and 
lend me your ears? You're not going to arrest me, 
your own flesh and blood, so to speak, especially as 
I'm not born yet, you know," said Diddy in the hope 
of making himself quite clear. "It would be a gross 
anachronism, and I would be sorry to be a party to 
any violation of the probabilities. For we live in a 
matter-of-fact age, you see; that is, I do." continued 
Jones, Jr., "and it would take a good deal of argument 
to convince a third person of our identity just now. 
But I am willing to strike a bargain with you, as I 
said. Either you shall show me old Boston or else 
I'll be your guide to the new city." 

"You speak in riddles," said Grace-Sufificient Jones, 
testily. "Wherefore all these foolish parables?" 

"I am talking sober common sense, my venerated 
and pious ancestor,'' returned Didymus, calmly. "Yes- 
terday you were comfortably reposing under there" — 
indicating a small piece of greenward at his feet — "and 
there was a slantindicular (excuse my archaic Latin) 
piece of very worm-eaten slate, whereon had been 
traced the record of your virtues and the dates of 
your birth and death. Now it seems to me, as logical, 
that while it is just possible that you could have been 
resurrected and have had a chance to prowl around 
here once more, it is utterly incomprehensible that I 
could have been 'resurrected' 200 years before I was 
born. This simple statement is all that is necessary to 
prove mv case. Therefore Met us reason together' — 
you'll appreciate the quotation — shall you or T play the 
phantom?" 

"Again you talk in riddles and show that many 
words darken counsel. T am no phantom." He laid 
his heavy hand on the shoulder of Didymus, and that 

96 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

individual at once admitted that there was plenty of 
physical entity in the grip. 

"Well I give it up,"' said Jones, Jr., despairingly. 
"I have done my best to bring you into a 19th century 
state of mind, by gentle means, and have worked 
harder to that end than I ever thought I could have 
done. If you will not accept my logic, I must appeal 
to the stern realities. Let us go." 

Constable Jones seemed more desirous than his 
descendant to leave the hill. They descended by the 
eastern slope, passing a number of neat, well ap- 
pointed frame houses, each with a spacious lot sur- 
rounding, and with but little suggestion of street^, 
although there was an attempt at regularity in the 
lines, and a not particularly well-kept road in front. 
Tn fact the mud was very thick — the road very dirty, 
and Didymus felt almost at home. It really seemed 
like the 19th century Boston once more. 

The view which Jones obtained of the harbor 
amply compensated him for all minor troubles. No 
frowning warehouses interfered with the pleasant pros- 
pect, althoug-h a few mean looking buildings existed 
along the shore, or clustered around a small wharf. 
The well-wooded slopes of what is now East Boston 
presented a charming picture, and Didymus's eye, as 
it took in Bird, Governor and the other islands of the 
harbor, noted the rich growth of trees on each, the ef- 
fect of which was so pleasing that he involuntarily 
stopped to gaze upon the charming picture and point 
out the beauties to his companion, 

"You had the advantage of us, old fellow," he said. 
"I had no idea how pleasantly Boston was situated." 

"Yes, our lines have been cast in pleasant places, 
and we have a goodly heritage. Here a true remnant 
has been gathered to await the coming." 

97 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"It seems to me it has already come," said Didy- 
mus. "If you had seen this North End as I saw it 
yesterday, or was it to-day — or to-morrow? — you 
would have said that there was not only a remnant 
but a whole crazy quilt here. There were Portuguese. 
Irish, Spanish, Russians, Italians, Norwegians. 
Swedes, French. Poles and a whole lot of other na- 
tionalities all around. But what is that yonder?" 

The eyes of Grace-Sufficient Jones followed the di- 
rection indicated by his scion's index finger, and he 
answered briefly: "The officers of the law go to the 
Town Dock to duck a scold." 

"May we witness it?" 

"I know of no reason w^hy we should not; except 
that it seems of poor taste to be a mere spectator of 
public punishment." 

"I never saw sucli a thing before. It would be a 
new sensation." 

"The worldly are always seeking after vanities, 
only to find them " 

"Oh. please don't," interrupted Diddy. "I've had 
more exhortation this afternoon than I ever had in my 
life before. Let us join them. Who is she and what 
is her special oflfence?" 

"It is most likelv Tamson. widow of Contentment 
r)adger. She hath a shrewish tongue and maketh 
light of the elders, many of whom have wrestled with 
and for her, groaning in spirit and with tribulation for 
her infirmity." 

"Enough to send anv well-disposed woman off her 
base," said Didymus. placidly. "So she resisted?" 

"Assailed them with brawling and with riotous 
language, bidding the elders clap a stopper on their 
own long tongues, before they accused a poor widow 
of brawling." 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"Bully for Tamson!'' said Jones. Jr. "I have a 
solid respect for the Badger relict. Do you really think 
the ducking stool will cure her?'' 

"If it does not, the gag will check her;" said Con- 
stable Grace-Suflficient Jones, "and it might be useful 
in some other quarters," he added with some acerbity, 
for though he was not well enough versed in slang to 
understand Biddy's expressions, the sympathetic look 
on his face for the violator of the law was too evident 
to be misunderstood. He was about to raise his hand 
for another exhortation when Didymus checked him 
at once, and stepped out promptly ahead, soon leaving 
Grace-Sufficient Jones, constable, guide and exhorter, 
far in the rear. 

A large crowd had gathered at the head of the 
wharf, many of whom taking time by the forelock, 
had waited patiently for the coming of the culprit. 
They especially surrounded the ducking stool, which 
consisted of a long boom or pole, on the outer edge 
of which was a chair seat, so arranged that the person 
seated in it could be fastened securely in it, much after 
the manner of an infant's chair, with its cross bars. 

By means of a pivot the boom swung inboard or 
overboard. Towards this chair a number of officers 
of the town and constables were conducting the hap- 
less Tamson. who not having the slightest fear of the 
ducking stool or the magistrates before her eyes, con- 
tinued the flow of her eloquence, and plumped herself 
down in the stool, with an air of being so exceedingly 
comfortable, as induced some of her friends in the 
crowd to raise a heartv cheer. 

When the still vociferous widow of Contentment 
Badger was comfortably swung out over the Town 
Dock, a grave and reverend magistrate advanced to 
the edge of the water and began to read the sentence. 

99 ' 

L.ofC. 



SUNGS AND ARROWS 

'I"1k' crowd was silent, and even Tanison IJadt^er, 
doubtless feeling that she would need all her breath 
in a minute or two, held her peace. 

As soon, however, as he began to add t(j the sen- 
tence, and exhibited signs of winding up preparatory 
to a homily or exhortation, Tamson's patience, which 
was of a very diaphanous texture, utterly gave way, 
and to the infinite delight of the crowd, she indulged 
in the luxury of "taking a sight,'' putting her thumb 
to the tip of her nose and spreading her fingers dis- 
dainfully, at the same time advising the magistrate to 
take a dip with her, and "douse his red glim." 

This was too much for the exhorter, whose nose 
was all that Tamson Badger's tongue had painted it. 
He held his hand up, as a sign that the constables 
should duck the belligerent and -incorrigible Tamson, 
and as the relict of Contentment Badger disappeared 
beneath the waters of the Town Dock, the worthy 
magistrate tumbled in head over heels after her. 

Didymus Jones swears that though he was respon- 
sible for that disaster, it was purely an accident. In 
his eagerness to get forward to the end of the pier he 
fell against Mr. Commissioner Red Nose, and was 
horrified to see his respectable black stockings and 
shoes leap skyward while his rubicund nose actually 
cast a lurid glare over the muddy water, as the head 
to which it belonged disappeared beneath. 

Of course the crowd yelled with delight, and 
eagerly and obsequiously pressed forward to help the 
worthy magistrate out of his predicament, and by 
sheer good luck got him out of the dock just as the 
culprit Tamson emerged, so that by the time she had 
recovered her eyesight and her breath, she had the 
satisfaction of seeing her tormentor, like a drowned 
rat, on the wharf; and. as the boom swung inboard. 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Tamson, by far the more comfortable of the two, 
laughed so loud that the crowd joined in. 

Even the commissioner himself, so soon as he had 
rubbed the mud out of his eyes, could not but ap- 
preciate his ridiculous situation. He joined with the 
rest, and while all were so engaged Didymus Jones set 
out to release the relict of Contentment Badger from 
the ducking stool, when the tall form of Grace-Suf- 
ficient Jones was seen pushing his way through the 
crowd. 

Evidently his temper had over-mastered him. 
Though the wharf fairly shook with the laughter of 
the crowd, the constable's face was as black as night. 
He strode over to his ever-so-many-times-great- 
grandson, placed his hands on his shoulder and was 
about to say that he arrested him in "the name," etc., 
etc., etc., when the family failing of temper found its 
last illustration in the generally placid Didymus. His 
left arm was around the half-released Tamson Badger, 
who was young and good looking, but he launched 
out his right on the mouth of his venerable ancestor, 
and the next moment the brass-tipped stafif of 1660 
descended with so nuich force on the head of the un- 
lucky Didymus that he fell to the ground. 

The blow was so shrewdly aimed, that Jones, Jr., 
saw the whole stellar system pass in review before his 
eyes. 

=.= * * * * 

When he sat up on the floor at the foot of his chair 
he caught sight of the constable's staff gleaming with 
a brassy glare, and a dim idea of the depravity of 
inanimate things filled the mind of Didymus Jones, 
but he had nothing but his sore forehead to prove the 
theory. 

But one thing is certain. The erection of a twenty 

lOI 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

ton granite monument over the ancestral grave of the 
Jones family on Copp's Hill serves to show that Jones 
( Didymus) of the present generation has done his best 
to per])etuate the memory of Grace-Sufficient, his an- 
cestor, son of "When-they-persecute-you-in-one-city- 
flee-unto-another Jones." 

And the lioston Society of Psychical Research has 
gained a working member. 



Che Lasting Low. 



Love, which in the spring of life 

Gladdens with its promise rare 
All the Summer days that follow, 

Yields its fruits in Autumn fair. 
Winter comes and brings its snows, 

White-streaked locks among the gold. 
But our love, each day renewing 

Shows our hearts can ne'er grow old; 

For the years which crowd upon us 

Assays love which Spring-time knew, 
And each fleck of dross rejecting. 

Finds the old love ever new, 
Troubles like a tempest gather. 

What care we for Winter storm. 
When our store of Summer sunshine 

Keeps our hearts forever warm? 



102 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Squaring the Hccount. 



'CJW then, sir, what is it 
you want?" 

The speaker was a 
middle-aged woman; 
the one addressed a 
tramp, whose feebly 
expressed wishes had 
failed at first to reach 
the ears of his ques- 
tioner; the scene, a 
lonely Connecticut 
farm-house ; time, 
early evening. 

*T want f o o d,"' 
the man muttered 
rather than spoke: 
"I'm dead beat; I 
want shelter a n d 
rest!" 

"Work and earn 
them," said the wo- 
man curtly, as she sought to close the door. 

"V^ery good advice and very cheap," saifl the 
tramp, with a scowl. "Give me work then. Only for 
God's sake, give me, first, food to eat." 

His voice, which had almost fiercely rung out in 
the first part of the sentence, died away into a hoarse 
murmur of pleading earnestness, to which his gaunt 
frame and hollow eyes and generally woe-begone ap- 
pearance added additional emphasis. 

103 




SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"Always food first," repeated the woman, her natur- 
ally hard features growing more stern as she spoke. 
Then opening wide the door, which had been pre- 
viously secured by a heavy chain that only admitted of 
a few inches of space, she with a careless air allowed 
the shining barrel of a revolver to become visible. 

"Come in,"" she said: "I can give you a meal." 

"If you're alone, I'll eat it here," said the vagrant. 

The hard-featured woman positively laughed. 

"I have good company close at hand,'" — she tapped 
the revolver as she spoke; "seven good protectors; and 
I shall keep behind you, never fear!"' 

Tramps were at a discount in Connecticut. Many 
a farmer's wife found it necessary to imitate Mrs. ]\Iar- 
den and keep a revolver at hand, for the entertaiimient 
of such callers as the one before her. 

"Use it now," said the tramp, bitterly, still hesi- 
tating to enter. "Put a bullet where it will do the most 
good, and end this miserable life, as I would have done 
myself if I had had the pluck. It will be applauded 
by your neighbors — whose dogs have been set on to 
me, for it will rid the country of a tramp. Or give me 
the barker, for I think I could do it myself now." 

Something in the utter helplessness of the wreck 
before her touched the woman's heart. She pointed to 
the open door of the kitchen, and her guest preceded 
her to that room, and ate with wolfish eagerness the 
meal which had been set out for one of the farm help, 
the while the woman sat watching every movement of 
her unwelcome and repulsive visitor. 

Spite of her boast as to the revolver, Mrs. Marden 
was by no means sorry to see her husband rapidly aj)- 
proaching across the lot. 

She met him at the door and husband and wife 
entered the kitchen as the tramp finished his meal. 

104 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

A careless nod from the farmer acknowledged the 
tramp's thanks, who leaned back in the chair with the 
air of a man to whom the rest was especially grateful. 

"I'll take the men's suppers out with me, Mary," 
the farmer said. "I must be greedy of daylight; there 
are chances of rain to-morrow, and I need every 
moment and all the help I can get." 

"Can I help you?'' asked the tramp. 

"You can, if you choose," said Marden. "But as a 
general rule I have found you fellows more disposed 
to eat than work." 

"Try me," said the vagrant. 'T need food and rest 
for a day or two that I miglit find strength to continue 
my journey, and you can have my labor on those 
terms." 

"So be it," said Marden briefly. "You can help 
me carry out the men's suppers, if you have finished 
your own.'' 

The tramp belied the farmer's estimate by working 
hard. The barn was the only place in which he would 
sleep, and thither, with many misgivings and cautions 
as to smoking, Marden conducted him. 

Days passed, and still the vagrant, who accepted 
the name — Tom — bestowed upon him, with the same 
reticence and subordination with which he set about 
tasks placed before him, continued working for the 
farmer, and almost succeeded in avv-akening Marden's 
interest, as he had already his curiosity. 

"Tom," said Marden, as they sat at a meal one 
evening, after the labors of the farm had almost ended 
— they never really end- — "you don't seem to be as 
anxious to push on as you were once. Have you no 
home, and no one waiting for you?" 

"No, and not a living soul,*' said Tom in a tone 
which did not encourage further questions. 

105 



SrJNGS AND ARROWS 

''No father, mother, wife, chihh'en nor relations of 
any kind?" continued Harden, wlio did not take the 
hint of the tramp's tone. 

*'I beUeve I have some relatives; they are not 
anxious to see me. They would like to be certain that 
I was dead, but they have no desire to see me livin^e^." 

"You talk like a man without hope," said Mardcn. 
"Why you are young yet!" 

"Hope and I parted company years ago,"" said Tom 
carelessly. 

Mrs. Marden glanced up at this remark. "I should 
think self-respect departed at the same time," she said 
sharply. 

Her husband looked at her for a moment, as if he 
disapproved of the remark, l)ut the vagabond did not 
seem hurt. 

"You should think so?"" repeated Tom, eyeing her 
curiously, as her face grew red under his earnest gaze. 
"Well, trust a woman for jumping at correct con- 
clusions; you're right; they went away together, that 
is, if I ever had any self-respect to lose.** 

"P'ossibly not,"" Mrs. Marden replied, a little more 
sharply, because she was irritated by Marden"s evident 
dislike of her manner. 

But before the disapproval could be expressed in 
plain words, an interruption occurred by the arrival 
of a neighbor for w'hom the farmer left his meal un- 
finished. 

The tramp and Mrs. Marden sat at the table to- 
gether. 

Tom continued to watch her face earnestly. Her 
hand, which held the knife, w-as extended, and her 
fingers were urging the blade to dmm a light tattoo 
on the empty plate before her. 

It was a shapely hand, though hardened and 
1 06 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

rough with toil, but the first joint of the httle finger 
was gone. 

The tattoo was suddenly arrested. Tom had seized 
lier hand hghtly; for a moment he held it gently while 
he examined the mutilated finger. 

She looked up at him with anger blazing from her 
own eyes, to see the vagabond standing above, his eyes 
looking into hers; to see him face to face, expression 
to expression, as she had never seen him before. 

Then the words of anger died on her lips, which 
became white as her face, while her eyes were filled 
with an agony that could find no vent in words. 

"So you know me at last, Alary Dana," he said 
hoarsely. 

He gently closed the door, between the kitchen 
and the room where the farmer and his friend were 
seated, while Mrs. Harden sat utterly helpless in her 
chair. 

"You were quite right, Mrs. Marden — if that's 
your real name, which I very much doubt. I lost my 
self-respect, when I lost my hope. It was about the 
same time that I lost my wife and child." 

"The child is dead," she whispered, glancing with 
terror at the door behind which was her husband. 

"So much the better," said Tom, "and yet the only 
hope I had was that I might find her, and that there 
might be one living thing that would or could care for 
me." 

"I thought you were dead," said the woman. The 
words came out in fierce gasps, as if extorted from her 
by syllables. 

"Wished I were dead, you mean," said Tom, sav- 
agely. "The wish was father to the thought. You 
fancied a prosperous farmer in Connecticut was a bet- 
ter investment than a luckless miner in California." 

107 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"No; so help me God, no!*' she pleaded. "They 
told me you were dead. It was so published in the 
papers. Everyone believes you were killed in a fight 
in Leadville."' 

"Never was in Leadville," said tlic other. 

"It was so told,"' she continued: "John Dana, age 
about 35 ; description a likeness of yourself. How was 
I to know? I had not enough money to get food for 
my child and myself. How could I go to Leadville to 
find out, and there seemed no doubt. Why did you 
not write?'' 

"Because I was down on my luck,'' said Dana. "I 
waited for a chance to send money, but found none. 
I sent you a letter and money at last when luck seemed 
to change, but it came back to me, with a note stating 
that you had left the town, and your address was un- 
known. You didn't waste nnich time in mourning,'' 
he added bitterly. 

"I was alone, with your child, starving. He — my 
hus])and — Marden offered me a home. I took him at 
his word. What could I do?" 

"You married him within two months of hearing 
of my death," said Dana. "A short widowhood." 

She sat still, with hands clasped before her, and 
eyes rivetted on the door, nmte and helpless, as one 
might wait for inevitable death. 

"I told you the only relatives I had would be glad 
to be sure that I were dead," said "Tom" bitterly. 
"Perhaps you will agree with me now?" 

She answered never a word. 

"How did my baby die?'' asked John Dana, quietly; 
all traces of passion having gone from his voice. 

"Died from cholera infantum, the doctors said; 
died from want of food. I was more than half starved, 
the child was too weak to struggle against the disease." 

io8 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"Died after you were married, of course, and you — 
your — he — was g-lad of it, I suppose?'' 

He could not brins^ himself to use the word "hus- 
band." 

"No, no;" she said earnestly. "He did all in his 
power to save the child, and he would have given any- 
thing to do it. I think he cared as much for it — per- 
haps more than he did for me. She is buried yonder;" 
and the eyes unused to weeping were filled with tears 
as she pointed to a distant white church tower, that 
lighted up a green hillside about a mile away. 

The conversation in the next room had grown loud 
and boisterous, broken now and then by a hearty 
laugh. The closed door divided the tragedy and 
comedy; so near do good and evil come. 

The tramp sat silent. His head had fallen upon his 
breast, and he seemed to be thinking earnestly. 

The woman watched him, as if seeking for some 
gleam of hope of escape from the awful trouble that 
had come upon her. She loved Harden, loved him 
with a devotion she had never known till this moment, 
when she was able to gauge how hollow had been the 
tie that had bound her to the reckless, careless man 
before her, who had valued her so little, as to scarcely 
care to work for her and his child. 

No w^onder she watched the tramp's face earnestly, 
and when he raised his head, she waited for his words, 
as one might wait to hear a death warrant read. 

"You are comfortable here," said Dana. 

"As one can hope to be," she murmured. 

"Brace up, then," said the tramp, with an as- 
sumption of his old slangy manner, which she had 
known so well. "Dry up your tears. I shall leave to- 
morrow morning, and you are not likely ever to see 
me again." 

109 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

She rose to her feet, and lier face Hglited up, as one 
to whom a reprieve had come when least expected. 

"Let the matter rest here," he continued. "John 
I3ana is dead. Let him rest m his grave." 

Mrs. Marden's hard features were mobile enough 
now. Heedless of the chances of discovery, she fell 
at his feet, too grateful, it must be confessed; and yet 
feeling fully the self-sacrifice of the man before her. 

He raised her gently. "1 long since found out — 
of course it was too late! — that I had not done my duty 
to you. Forgive me, Mary. Let the dead past bury 
its dead. I go from this house to-night." 

"Where?" she asked. 

"Where I can do you no harm," he said. "Be as- 
sured of that. Somewhere," he said, and his face 
seemed to soften and his voice grew strangely tender, 
"where I might think over what life might have been 
with a wife and child to care for; and where I can wait 
for death to come to me. I have been foolish and 
wicked all my life — there must have been vagabond 
blood in my veins, I think. But I am tired of it, at 
last, and want rest, and if it could have come that I 
might rest forever by the side of our little one, I should 
have liked it better. But it is not to be. Dry up your 
tears. If I had been a better man I might have been 
happier; I shall try to be, perhaps." 

"You will need money," she said. The tears were 
streaming from her eyes, and these seemed to revive 
the old aflfection for him. 

"Not a cent. T have roughed it for years; I can 
rough it a little longer. I have ejiough for my wants." 

The conversation in the next room had ceased. 
Glancing out of the window they saw Marden's friend 
in the act of stepping into his buggy. Tliere was but 
a moment's respite for them. 

no 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"Good bye and God bless you, Mary." 

He kissed her, and she left the room, at the moment 
that Marden entered, and the tramp put his hands in 
the pockets of his tattered breeches, and whistled a 
lively air. 

That night he disappeared. His absence caused 
the farmer a subject for conversation, but he put it 
down to the natural tendency of tramps, and dismissed 
the subject easily. 

Twenty-four hours had scarcely passed when a 
messenger came to the farm-house from a neighboring 
town. The body of a tramp had been found crushed 
on the railroad track. There was a note in the pocket 
of his ragged jacket, bloodstained and dirty, but the 
pencil scrawl was still visible. It was addressed to 
Farmer Marden, and read: — 

" The best thing I could do'was to leave your house ; the best 
I 'could think of for myself was to leave this life. If anyone 
asks you to do a kindness to me, count it as my last wish, and 
try to do it." 

The per]:»lexed farmer passed the note to his wife, 
who, with blanched face and trembling lips read it 
aloud. 

She beckoned her husband inside and hurriedly 
told the story. 

"No one need be the wiser," said the farmer, ten- 
derly. 'T see now what he wanted." 

The body of the tramp, identified by Farmer Mar- 
den, as a man who had answered to the name of Tom, 
was given up to him, after the necessary formalities, 
and John Dana rests by his child's side. 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



'Che Colors at Isandlhwana. 



The Kaffir bush with warriors swarm, 

The (hisky squadrons muster strong, 
The bravest of the Zukt chiefs 

Are gathered in the massing throng. 
They hunt the Hon, and they know 

There's need of num])ers for the task. 
The fiercest warriors of their race 

A bloodier welcome cannot ask. 

Nor lack they proof, for in the fight 

The lion's teeth and claws strike hard. 
Thousands of dusky forms are stretched 

In death upon the sterile sward. 
What if the white man yields his life? 

A bloody vengeance he exacts. 
And inch by inch as backward thrust. 

The dying Kaffir marks the track. 

But sore beset, on front and rear, 
Pours from the bush the sable tide, 
"Around the colors. Twenty-fourth!" 
The foes' exulting shouts replied: 
"Dingaan's victorious spear and shield 
And Tchaka's might is oiu-s to-day: 
Mokanna's prophecy is filled — 

The white man's star is set for aye!" 

The colors once so proudly borne 

When Blenheim's fateful field was won : 
That w^aved in triumph on the eve 
When Talavera's fight was done, 

112 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 




"The standard's safe below 
The nerveless arms and rigid face." 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Are stricken down, and on their folds — 

Crimson and gold, a royal bed — 
The two brave lads have sunk to rest, 

Guarding their trust while dying — dead! 

Dead, with their faces to the foe — 

Meet posture for their warlike race! 
Dead, but the standard's safe below 

The nerveless arms and rigid face. 
The silken gold and scarlet folds 

Empurpled with the blood so shed, 
Bear marks more glorious than the names 

Of victories woven in their thread. 

Green Wan\ack mourns her gallant sons, 
Who never more lier glades shall know, 

But points with mournful pride to deeds 
That check the tears that else would flow. 

True ofifspring of the "warrior-breeding shire," 
"Feared by their breed and famous by their birth," 

Her own immortal Shakespeare's pen hath writ 
Their epitaph in terms that fit their worth. 




114 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



H IMidnight Reverie, 



I sit alone; 'tis after midnight hour, 
And silence reigns above me and around; 
Save that the ticking clock attests Time's flight, 
And rain-drops loudly patter on the ground. 
Am I alone? My books around me stored 
(A little hoard, not equal to my wants) 
Seem to have heard the question, and to make 
To my last thoughts an eloquent response. 

Alone? Is he in solitude who sits 

Surrounded by the spirits of the great? 

Here Shakespeare breathes; here Caesar's spirit 

stands, 
And they who conquered worlds submissive wait; 
There the illustrious dead await my call, — 
Dead only till I bid them breathe and move; 
Here stand the poets each with lyre in hand. 
At my behest to sing of war or love. 

As one who in that grand old Abbey stands 
Where Britain's mighty dead are laid to rest, 
Sees round him gather in the solemn gloom 
The forms whose fingers on his lips seem pressed. 
So I amid these books. They live and breathe ; 
I only am the dead, whose feeble sight 
Is blinded by the great transfiguration, 
And dare not move before the presence bright. 



"5 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

And yet they stand to serve, and I 
Make order of their service, one 1/y one, 
"Come Livy, tell us of heroic times. 
Of Roman valor and the victories won! 
Nay, stand aside ; 'tis but a modern tale, — 
The same recurrent jealousy and hate; 
The same old pattern figures in the weft 
Forever fashioned by the hand of Fate." 

Still toil the thousands that the one may gain; 
Still human life is reckoned as of old; 
We prate of outgrown crowns, and bend the knee 
In meaner homage to the chink of gold. 
Still go into the cheapest mart and buy 
The cringing laborer's flesh and blood and soul; 
Or try in vain to right his grievous w-rong 
By churlish offering of a meagre dole. 

Still, — God forgive us! — children droop and die, 
In factories huge, denied the light of day; 
Mere human weeds, which fringe the river's bank, 
And by death's stream are carried soon away. 
A little human clod from which the gold 
Is squeezed, and then is flung aside! 
What matter, so our industries increase. 
Why should we think of those who worked and- 
died? 

vStill, let us bow the knee to those who reap 
The harvest watered by the children's tears; 
Still jeer at those who seek to right the wrong, 
Cry "Communist!" and close our sacred ears, 
While men, uncouth of speech, who only know 
They hopeless toil to build another's state, 

ii6 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Brood sullenly the thoughts they dare not speak, 
And, dying, leave a legacy of hate. 

Bhndly we grope, although the light is gleaming; 
Life's course is brief, and we are prompt to say,— 
'For us the end soon comes; let those who follow 
Solve all these problems even as they may." 
O ye who stand in forefront of the battle. 
Alone against a host, — the coming years 
Shall see the fruits of victory, and shall garner 
With joy the harvest which you sow in tears. 



Che British Dead. 



(Poem read at dedication of British Charitable Society's Burial 
Lot in Mount Hope Cemetery, May 30, 1S91.) 

Beneath our feet the verdant grass is springing. 

The genial sun is shining overhead. 
Nature's great Resurrection now is showing 

Life's impulse in this city of the dead. 

Life evermore in death, and death in life — 
Forever gone the terror of the grave; — 

The seasons wax and wane, and yet renewing. 
Repeat the promise that our Father gave. 

There is no land on this earth's wide expanse 
In which our English dead cannot be found; 

True types of Britain's ever-conquering race, 
Their bones are scattered over every ground. 
117 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

With reverent rite and speech we set apart 
This spot of ground at Charity's behest; 

Where, when the burdened care-marked Hfe is o'er, 
The stricken and the friendless may find rest. 

We dedicate tlie ground, the scul])tared urn 
That Hfts its graceful lines above the soil. 

But Charity and Love have been before us here 
Anrl consecrated each witli loving toil; 

So this "God's Acre," — as our fathers named 

The spot in which their kindreil dust was sleeping- 
Can ne'er be "foreign" soil to those v/ho rest 
In life or death within our Father's keej^ing. 

Here, in this spot fraternal love provided. 
They rest in hope, till all the world shall see 

The Elder Brother, by His saints attended. 

And Heaven's light breaking over land and sea. 




II 8 



SLJNGS AND ARROWS 



XTbc )VIotber-in-Law 



I have a mother-in-law. It is the unquestionable 
duty of every one who aspires to be a "journalist" to 
use his mother-in-law as the basis for a humorous 
paragraph, and the lady who has the honor of being 
my wife's mother supplies her full share of opportunity 
for the nascent humor of her son-in-law. 

I'll back the old lady — she is eighty-two years of 
age, and has the remains of a fine w'oman about her — 
against the finest phonograph ever built. She rises in 
the morning at 8.30, and goes to bed at the same hour 
at night. And, during the whole day, she never ceases 
to talk. It flows on, in gentle murmurs from hour to 
hour, occasionally lulled for a moment when the 
children's voices are more demonstrative than usual, 
but never checked. Nothing can check the flow of 
talk; it is as mechanical as the working of a water 
wheel, with the only difference that the power can 
never be diverted from it. 

It does not cover a wide range of interest, yet for 
the first time or two the listener can feel a positive 
pleasure in her reminiscences. They are of early 
childhood — for extremes meet, in the garrulous old 
lady, who forgets the incidents of one hour ago, yet 
has the clearest recollection of the sayings and doings 
in a Somersetshire village, seventy-five years ago. 
Her memories are of the French and British war of 
the early part of the century, as it affected her village; 
of the daily life on a farm at that time; of roystering 
bucolics and small adventures; of riding on a bull, 
and of the burning of Squire Somebody's barn; of 

119 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

country parsons and agricultural laborers; — and then 
the wheel is turned, and the same How of talk begins 
again. 

I take a book and try to read. I can read, and 
read critically, in the whirr and bustle of a busy print- 
ing office; 1 can write at an editorial desk, and keep 
my thoughts comparatively clear while strident ward- 
politicians' voices arc conducting political battles at 
my right hand, but the steady, monotonous flow of 
words that falls from my mother-in-law's lips, is posi- 
tively maddening. I would go out, but dare not waste 
the time; so I go up-stairs, and stuff a piece of paper 
into the keyhole of the room door. And even there 
the maddening stream of words rises, and the very 
atmosphere seems charged with the never-ending tale 
of " 'Uncle Will' who went to the war before "Boney" 
was taken, and who never came back, "though his 
father owned the paper-mill down to Ufifculme," 
and his uncle was parish clerk of the village, where he 
used to give thirty poor widows a loaf and sixpence 
every month out of the money which was left to the 
parish ; or of how Farmer Chard used to beat his wife, 
his daughters, his parish apprentices and his horses 
with equal and impartial brutality, or how my worthy 
father-in-law, whom I never saw — for, lucky man, he 
died forty years ago — walked in his sleep into the 
canal, and how the Squire's hounds stole the butter, 
and Sam Smith, the ne'er-do-well of the village, lived 
a gay life and defied the game laws, and never wanted 
a leg of mutton while the Squire's fat wethers were 
around. All this and much more comes floating up in 
the air, and the very walls seem saturated with the 
incessant and monotonous rush of w^ords. 

And so, in self defense, I drop the subject I started 
to write about, and devote this column to my mother- 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

in-law. I cannot hope to do justice to the subject. 
And I leave to the professional paragrapher the job of 
making the senility of age ridiculous, or attempting 
to make the old mother a subject of satire. I think I 
could do it, if I tried, but the recollection of the "short 
but simple annals of the poor" checks the flow of 
humor, and there is a tendency to special humidity in 
the eyes, as the full import of that half century of 
patient toil and much-enduring, much-suf¥ering 
motherhood comes to the front. For there are some 
pitiful tales in those super-childish recollections. One, 
for instance, of a dying woman forsaken by her hus- 
band (who, God knows, might in those "good old 
days," have been pressed into the navy, or waylaid 
and robbed on the highway, by the many hundreds of 
vagabonds whom hopeless poverty or inbred vices had 
sent on the road). But she lay dying, with three little 
ones clamoring for food, and turning her face to the 
wall, despairing of God and man, till some one as poor 
as herself, soothed her dying moments by taking the 
little brood to her own home, and sharing the loaf, 
already too small for the many mouths, among the 
little orphans. Of the death of the poor benefactor, of 
life in the workhouse, or "poor farm," and of children 
of seven years apprenticed to farmers, and literally 
sold to drudgery at a time when their little lives should 
be only full of daily pleasures. 

A hard life for poor children was that in "the good 
old times," for the old woman's only recollection of 
pleasure is that "Uncle Will took me up in Bulmore 
Orchard to see the great comet" (1808) and her share 
in great events of that time is a recollection of the 
illumination and the dinner when the Squire roasted 
an ox whole, in memory of the great Duke of Wel- 
lington, who had fought the French and taken his 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

title from the little market town near which the old 
mother's recollections centre. 

And so the old lady maunders on. Now it is Uncle 
Will; now the comet; and then comes a spell of grief 
for the son who left her forty years ago, and never 
came back; of the daughter whose grave is yet green 
in old Plymouth, and more recent still of the only son 
who was her support, and who died a few months be- 
fore in Australia. All these, with many tears, are • 
woven in the never-ending tale, and then — thank God 
for childhood, even that of old age, the current of 
old-time recollection flows again, and for a brief space 
the more recent griefs are forgotten, and with pathos 
and even more childish laughter — doubly pathetic — 
tlie old, old story of Uncle Will, and Sam Smith, the 
sheep-stealer, and the old joke of Taunton assizes 
comes to the front and so on, ad lib, till night comes, 
and the old lady goes to bed, to dream and recuperate 
for the next day's talk. 

And so — though I thought I could be humorous 
on such a humorous subject as a mother-in-law, I find 
it impossible. I come up-stairs, and see her in the 
kitchen with my little pet of three years on her old 
knees, and I know the two older ones take to her their 
little griefs and find ready sympathy and better under- 
standing than we of middle age can give to them. 

And I think of my boy — a wild, rough and healthy 
youngster — whom we feared to trust here to 
cholera infantum and sent over the seas to our old 
home to seek healthy breezes and cool summer air. 
It is many years since she accepted the trust, and gave 
her whole life to the little American grandson; nurs- 
ing him while sick, and petting him when well, and 
finally — for the little child led her — crossing the At- 
lantic to end her davs with him. 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Alas! that her most recent grief and mine is that 
the brave boy, to whom she gave herself so unre- 
servedly, is gone beyond even her care and love. I 
see the old eyes glisten with tears, — as do mine own 
as I write — and the aged lips tremble with pain and 
grief, that the dear boy is now only a sweet and loving 
memory, the household saint of our home. Hear her 
tell how the dying boy, with eyes upraised toward 
the heavenly light that streamed upon his face, and 
with finger pointing upward to the great white throne, 
repeated with unfaltering tongue the lines he had 
learned long before from her aged lips: — 

The gates of Heaven are open wide, 

With Jesus in the space, 
He welcomes me with friendly smile, 

And joys to see my face. 

And then I see the hand laid on the good gray 
head, and hear the words of love and thankfulness for 
her instruction fall from his dying lips. 

There is not much fun in all this. I think I could 
have done better if I could as easily remember some 
of the irritating lectures she has given me for my al- 
leged misconduct. But they have gone from me, even 
while writing, and I would rather keep the present 
picture in my mind, though her cracked voice is 
crooning "Jack Sprat" to Baby Joe, and I have to give 
up writing in sheer despair. 



123 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Che Song of the Gloucester '' Banker/' 

Now a lively song to start with, boys, 

A stave that shall raise each heart; 
The cheery wind blows fresh and fair. 

Kiss wife and child and part. 
"A pleasant trip and the high-line fare'' 

Is the wish of all hearts this night, 
For the fisher's heart is heavy as lead 

When the home-bound freight is light. 

There is danger, I trow, for us in store — 

Our hearts had need be stout; 
From the cruel mist and the winter storm, 

From the careless ship's look-out. 
Who can tell for whom on our homeward trip, 

Half-mast our flag shall fly, 
When "Lost on the Banks," from lip to lip 

In town shall pass the cry. 

But life is brief at the best, we know, 

Why cloud it o'er with fear? 
There's danger and care ashore as afloat, 

And Death stands ever near. 
Life is aye at its best on the bright blue wave, 

When sea and sky are bright; 
And the hope of a fare in the hardest breeze. 

Makes the fisher's heart grow light. 

So see that the notes of our parting song 

Fall as hope on the listening ear; 
Sunshine and storm, what'er may betide, 

Shall find us full of cheer. 
The sea's rich harvest waits our will, 

The cunning of our hand. 
And our God is as near by sea, T trow. 

As ever He is on land. 
124 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Che Delayed Criumph. 



(Respectfully Inscribed to John Greenleaf Whittier.) 

O loved and honored singer, whose brave heart 

Ne'er sought, despite the world's sharp scorn, to 
hide 
One tittle of the light which shone within. 

Nor turned from duty's path a foot aside. 
Thorny the road and steep the way has been. 

As winds the footpath to a mountain height 
O'er earth and summer cloud which stands supreme, — 

First to attain and last to yield the light. 

With self-reproach I lay your book aside, 

My faltering feet and feeble faith refuse 
To follow in the path of high resolve; 

I stand apart, because I dare not choose 
The path you bravely trod; yet dare not look below, 

In presence of the light you hold on high ; 
Toilsome the road before, and dark behind. 

And weary, faint and impotent am L 

Yet I have feebly tried the way to trace, 

In thought have travelled by you on your way; 
Have watched the east and marked the fiery cloud. 

And with you seen the rising of the day ; 
Have weakly tried to echo the glad sound. 

The "Laus Deo" o'er your triumph won. 
When the black clouds of slavery gave way 

Before the glowing' rise of Freedom's sun. 

125 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

But, ah, the "Laus Deo" seems to lack 

Something of fuhiess in its swelHng tone. 
As if some ruder hand now swept the strings, 

Or only half the triumph had been won; 
The bells which told the "burial hour of crime," 

Seem jangled now, and harsh and out of tune. 
As if there yet remains the work to do, 

And the triumphant song had come too soon. 

And has "the fresher, promised life begun?" 

O, master mine, the world yet groans with pain! 
Some toil-worn worker in his fetid home, 

Answers with mocking jibe your joyful strain. 
He sees his labor's fruits absorbed by those 

Who toil nor spin not, neither do they weave; 
The bitter smart of ill-requited toil 

Still poisons all the good he might receive. 

And who is left to lift his voice on high? 

Whose lips, like thine, touched with the sacred fire, 
Shall preach the new evangel to the world? 

Or must we wait until the gathering ire 
Darkens and deepens in the low'ring sky 

And pent-up passion ends in fearful strife? 
So once again, "the cruel rod of war" 

May spring with blossoms of a purer life? 

Day after day, the baleful seed is sowing 

The harvest-time approaches very near. 
O for the voice that like a trumpet blast 

Cries out and spares not, like the sainted seer. 
Who made the merchant princes hear his voice: 

"Woe unto them who on the needy prey! 
Who mock the fast by abstinence and rite, 

And turn the hungry from their door away." 
126 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Staff Colonels, 



Speak, O Colonel, proudly prancing in His Excel- 
lency's train, 

Battle-scarred and gallant warrior, how did you the 
title gain? 

In the hot-contested battle, where the myriad shriek- 
ing shells, 

Bullets whistling, cannons baying, drowned the rebel 
battle yells; 

When above the smoke of combat gleamed the glor- 
ious Stripes and Stars, 

Deeply dyed with patriot blood, high o"er the vStars 
and Bars. 

Perhaps you led the gallant boys who vainly toiled up 

Marye's heights; 
Speak, O scarred and seamed warrior, tell us of these 

bloody fights. 

Tell of that decisive dav, when, on Gettysburg's great 

field. 
The bravest Southrons faltered, from the withering 

volleys reeled; 

Of the Wilderness' seven days, when each inch of 
ground was won. 

Only when 'twas crimson-stained by the blood of pa- 
triot son. 

127 



SL/NGS AND ARROWS 

Speak, O Colonel, is that sword, now within its scab- 
bard sleeping. 

Notched and stained with awful spots that tell of 
widows weeping? 

And this charger, ])roudly i)rancing, is he like the gal- 
lant steed 

On which you led the charges in the battle's greatest 
need? 



The generations pass, and within a few short years. 
Not from those who shared the conflict will the story 
reach our ears! 



Thus I earnestly implored a colonel on the (iovernor's 

stafl', 
And he shyly smiled upon me; why did the other 

colonels lau2:h? 



Perhaps 'twas modesty which kept him from the story 

of his rank. 
As he covlv gazed upon me, standing by his chargers 

flank. 

"O," I cried, ''that crimson ])lush, which T see upon 

your cheek, 
Shows a warrior bravely modest, but I yet entreat you 

speak, 

For the sake of unborn thousands your example shall 

inspire ; 
Answer truly, I implore you, to my passionate desire!" 

128 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 




"Shows a warrior brave, but modest. 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Willi a little hesitation, for he was a modest man, 
And without a shade of boasting, his brave story he 
began : 

"1 run a party paper, and it stood in comljination 
With the highly moral party, and we made a nomina- 
tion; 

The people's vote sustained us in our highly moral 

mission. 
And the grateful Governor gave to me this very high 

position. 

No; I never saw a light, never heard m\- ears its din 

infernal; 
l)Ut [ s])ort a handsome chai)eau, and for life I'm 

dubbed a colonel. 

This uniform is neat, and I wear it with propriety. 
And it proves a welcome passport to the very best 
society." 



Thus the glowing, burning fancies of the bard were 
set aside 

l)y one of those brave colonels who behind tiie Gov- 
ernor ride. 



m 



$X5 



130 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



T>cnry Cdadsworth Longfellow. 



Died March 24, 1882. 



(From the Maiden Headlight, March 26, 1882.) 

Amid these earthly damps, 
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers 
May be Heaven's distant lamps.* 

No longer distant gleam the heavenly lamps, 

The earthly mists have fled before the dawn, 
And in the "faith which shines like morning star""}" 

His soul into the higher hght is drawn. 
May be Heaven's distant lamps? For him all doubt 

Is past; and in the glory of that day 
Which knows no dusk "may be" has changed to is, 

From cross to crown, $ the singer passed away. 

The reaper Death hath ta'en the bearded grain§ 

Ripe for the sickle, with low bending head; 
He who is Lord of harvest set the time. 

And we, who only mourn our honored dead 
And may not look beyond, save in that faith 

With which he sought the light which gleamed 
above. 
Leave him, who longed for rest when day was done,|| 

Safe in the sunshine of his Master's love. 

Gone are the shadows o'er his spirit trailing, j| 
The dead lies calmly in his shroud of snow!** 

All that is mortal, all that earth can claim 
Is laid to rest, and we can only know, 
131 



SUNGS AND ARROWS 

As he has taui^ht, his spirit lias attained 

To those hig-li turrets and that reach oi skyff 

Which mortal eyes ne'er view, whence partinj^ souls 
On toiling, throbbinc^, bcatini^ pinions fly.ft 

With reverence and awe we stand around, 

For here is majesty which Death has crowned. 
Lay not upon the bier a broken lyre. 

In higher choirs a sweet-strung harp is found. 
Home hath he found within his Father's house ;§§ 

Better is death than life§§ for they who rise 
Above the Lenten gloom of earth, and see 

The morn of Easter in the reddening skies. 

O pure of heart, who wrote with spotless pen. 

And left no word the world would see erased ! 
O mighty soul, who fought "the chartered lie,"|| || 

Nor rested till the bondsman had been raised! 
O strong of faith, who filled the world with hope, 

And to man's sorrow brought surcease of pain! 
O kindred soul, who felt his brother's need. 

And. sympathizing, joined in grief's refrain! 

Where'er the mother-tongue is heard to-day. 

From myriad homes, and from the far-ofT seas. 
From tropic lands, from islands of the south. 

Borne through the sentient air on every breeze. 
Come tributes to the singer who had helped 

W^ith cheery word to lessen life's great care. 
Whose "Psalm of Life" had spurred the lagging hojje 

And roused the weary laborer from despair. 

Not his, perchance, to sound the lower depths. 
Nor gauge the fiercest passions of the heart, 
132 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Not his the web of statecraft to reveal — 
He chose the lower, yet the higher, part: 

The sweet, sad strain which marks the Acadian theme, 
The quaint historic tale of Plymouth days, 

The Golden Legend of enduring love, 
And Hiawatha's weird and tender lays. 

We ask no critic here to mark the place, 

Nor mete out limits to the poet's fame. 
Perchance some bards have struck a higher note 

And left to earth a more enduring fame ; 
But parent hearts o'er severed blossoms bending 

Bless him who felt their grief and eased their pain. 
With hope that in the garden of the Master 

Their fairest fiow'rets should be seen again. 

* "Resignation." 

t "The Beleagured City." 

+ "Killed at the Ford." 

§ "The Reaper and the Flowers." 

Ij "The Day is Done." 

^ "Afternoon in February." 

** "The Old Clock on the Stair." 

•j-j- "The Builders." 

;j;j: "Birds of Passage." 

§§ "Golden Legend " 

II II Ode to Dr. Channing. 



r.« 



SUNGS AND ARROWS 



George R. patch. 



With beat of muffled drum and lianners draped, 

With arms reversed and stately, solenm tread, 
The soldier's corse was borne by comrades true, 

His country's flag around the gallant dead. 
The flag he followed with unfaltering eye. 

Though round about him raged the battle blast; 
I>rave heart, by soldier hands laid low to rest. 

In God's own light the soul shall rest at last! 

I»ut I, C) friend and comrade, seek to lay 

My tribute on the sod above thee placed; 
Not e'en the love of woman was more true. 

Tender and tried, as that thy friends embraced, 
A human sun, who gave forth light and cheer. 

Life-giving in its friendship, true and bright; 
Alas, that such a sun should sink in space. 

And leave us in the mist and gloom of night! 

And yet, although the night is dark, I know, 

Somewhere, the sun — God's sun — is shining bright. 
And He who knoweth all things knoweth best 

When comes the fitting time to draw the light. 
Yet tears will fall ; on many a bronzed cheek 

Coursed down the silent witnesses of grief; 
And many a voice was mute or trembled low 

That could not trust the lips to make relief. 

O friend, O comrade true, O generous heart! 

Our hearts with grief and joy are yet at strife; 
WHio is not glad that he was blessed to know 

And meet in friendship such a sunny life? 
134 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Che )VIother'9 Rand. 



"Where is the fair white hand I pressed 
Twelve years ago, when first were said, 
The words which made us man and wife. 

That summer morn when we were wed?" 
I take it in my own again — 

The ring I placed thereon is worn, — 
"This hand, so coarse and hard with toil. 
Is not the one I won that morn?" 

Ah, little need of palmistr}- 

To read the lines which Time has traced ; 
The hand is coarse, and yet I think, 

I would not have a line erased. 
And still, though every line and scar 

Tells plain its tale of wifely care, 
And years of uncomplaining toil, 

I sometimes wish it still were fair. 

And so w4th contradicting thought 

I muse, and grasp her hand the while. 
Till o'er her toil-worn face there gleams 

A half-amused, lialf-pitying smile; 
She calls our little daughter near. 

And in my palm with gentle force 
She puts the fine white hand I fear 

Almost to touch with mine so coarse. 

She brings our sturdy rogue of ten. 
And puts his hand within my own; 

The household pet, our youngest, joins — 

A despot, whom my knees enthrone — 

135 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

And adds her dainty fist to swell 
The pile of hands with roguish glee. 

(She needs no bidding, she, to come 
To take her place upon my knee). 

I see the mother glance with pride 

Upon her little brood the while, 
And then the hand I criticized 

Is placed upon the glowing pile; 
Ah, me! how^ fair and white it gleams. 

That hand I dared call coarse and rude, 
Transfigured by its ministry 

Of brave, ungrudging motherhood! 






136 



Reprints from the Maiden Headlight 



CHRONICLES OF MYSTIC SIDE 
Legends and Lyrics 
of Modern Maiden 



SIJNGS .IXP .IKKOWS 



The sketches here followinj^ are reprinted from 
"The Maiden Headhght," a little ])a])er published by 
W. G. J. Perry, of Maplewood, which had a brilliant, 
but all too brief existence, about twenty years ago. 
The author, using the pen name "Mustapha Chokh,'' 
contributed a series of articles relating to an alleged 
history of Maiden or "Mystic Side." Some of the at- 
tempted humor, written in a good-natured vein, used 
the names of well-known residents of Maiden and 
Maplewood to give point to the jokes, and the "per- 
sonalities" were accepted by those concerned in the 
spirit in which they were used. lUit many of these good 
people have passed away, and the articles have been 
revised so that not the slightest objection could be 
taken. 

To some of the older inhabitants of Maplewood 
the sketches may be interesting, and serve to recall 
many a good-natured laugh at local episodes and per- 
sonal foibles and fancies. 



13? 



SUNGS AND ARROWS 



"jVlystic Side." 



Chapters from a Serial f)istory of Maiden and 
Its Dependencies. 



(By the Curator of the Maplewood Arch.tological Society.) 



THE DISCOVERY OF MALDEN RIVER. 

It was during- the latter half of the seventeenth cen- 
tury, which is just about near enough for our chron- 
ology, that a small bark might have been seen under 
full sail making for Boston Light. There wasn't the 
faintest trace of a light there, but the rocks presented 
much the same appearance as in this lialf of the nine- 
teenth centttry, and are to-day still standing, wonder- 
fully corroborative in their gray grandeur of the truth 
of these chronicles. The fact of the lig-hthouse not be- 
ing built did not seem to bother the captain of the 
bark very nuich. He was in extra good humor; 
because no pilot had boarded him, and thus saved ex- 
pense, for, sayeth he: "If I nmst lose my shippe, why 
shoulde I not lose herre of myselfe, and not pay ye 
pilotte for doing itt?" 

There is no need to tell the intelligent reader that 
the harbor of Boston presented a somewhat different 
appearance from that of to-day. Deer Island was in 
existence, but the wisdom of shutting up a thousand 
more or less little boys on an island was not then ap- 
parent to the dwellers of Massachusetts Colony. The 

139 



SUNOS AND ARROWS 

festive clam gaily skipped on the beach at Toiiit 
Shirley, and at City Point and Hull; the genial sculpin 
led the silvery smelt in a merry race under the moon- 
lit waters of Hull, and the oysters, jubilant in the fact 
that the months of the Indian calendar had no r"s in 
their names, stroked their beards and tucked them- 
selves comfortably into their beds, or watched with 
languid eyes the sportive bluefish listening intently to 
the siren song of the bull-frog on the neighboring 
shore. 

Before the voyagers rose the three peaks of the 
peninsula of Shawmut, and as their little bark dashed 
merrily on past what is now East Boston, the smoke 
from a dwelling on the top of Beacon Hill plainly in- 
timated that some one had already secured a most 
eligible site for a dwelling, and had established a real 
estate agency on the Trimountain shcn^e. A few hours 
later, and the vessel had cast anchor ofif the point 
which is now monopolized by the Navy Yard. Before 
them gleamed in the ruddy glow of the setting sun the 
broad estuary of the Mystic River, but not a sound 
could be heard from Chelsea, which was as dead then 
as now. 

A few moments later a boat was seen to put of¥ 
from the shore of the Shawmut peninsula, and a man, 
lightly seizing a rope extended to him, hauled himself 
up on the deck and saluted the voyagers with the re- 
mark that he owned the triple-hilled peninsula, and did 
not propose to let a single galoot ashore, unless they 
promised to respect his territorial right. It was John 
Blackstone. Some description of this pioneer of Bos- 
ton society should be given, but unfortunately the 
writer knows as little about him as anybody else, ex- 
cept that he was undoubtedly of the first families of 
Boston, and that he established the Blackstone Na- 

140 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

tional Bank. What he said, however, is fortunately 
matter of record, and is found in the journal of the 
voyage, kept by the commander of the expedition: 
"Heere came on board John Blackstone, who sayeth 
that there weren't any showe nowe for a good 
American citizene, because ye foreigners were settling 
so thicklie around hym. We learned that some folke 
had settlede near Dorchester, and ye place was becom- 
ing too thicklie populated. So we determined to pushe 
further uppe the river." In these simple phrases were 
hidden the future history of Maiden. 

Careful investigation has failed to give the names 
of the individuals who composed this expedition. The 
sworn testimony of a Baggage-Smasher, attested by the 
Oldest Inhabitant, who is kept on file at this office, 
discloses the fact that on the sea-chest of the leader of 
the expedition was marked in rude chalk characters 
the initials "O. K." This was corroborated by a re- 
markable discovery of a piece of chalk, so that the 
chain of evidence is complete, and points to a startling 
conclusion — which is gratifying to our local pride — 
that the dis'covery of the Maiden River was the ex- 
ploit of Oliver Cromwell. 

If it be objected that his initials were "O. C," it 
can be stated that the objection has been anticipated 
and triumphantly met by the philologist of the 
Archaeological Society, who has on file at least 10,000 
cases of phonetic errors of the same kind. A tradition 
that he was accompanied by John Milton is well 
authenticated, and that the latter suffered much from 
mosquitoes, of which he bitterly complained. He 
wrote "Paradise Regained" after he got home, which 
seems so natural as to almost elevate this tradition 
into an historical fact. 

The vessel, fitted out for a voyage of discovery re- 
141 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

^^ardless of expense, was conimanded l)y a .i^rizzlcd 
old veteran who had been commended by Rlake hini- 
self. This was the fact as certified to Ohver. It was 
only after the remains of this vessel were unearthed 
from the mud-bank near the rubber works, and the 
private papers secured by the Maiden Archaeological 
Society, that it was discovered that Captain Marlin 
Spike had been commended by Blake to the care of 
the master-at-arms, and had been flogg^ed around the 
fleet. But these little matters didn't count for much 
anyway. The log-book of the ship, found at the same 
time, says: "At dark we found ourselves neare the 
mouthe of a bigge river, whereof we coulde see neither 
shore; butte Mr. Milton sayd that we could nott. by 
reason of its greatnesse. It were a perilous position 
for our vessel, for ye currente set strongly and ye 
shippe was carried therewith. To add to our trouble 
the winde rose to a gale, and we were driven onward 
at a terrific speede." 

Here the records of the captain grow indistinct, and 
the historiographer of the expedition, who was also the 
])oet of the day, fails to give a lucid account of the 
interval. The presumption, from the records, would 
be that they were sea-sick. The latest researches 
would seem to indicate that Henry Faxon was not a 
member of the crew, and that the ship must have 
drifted near the kitchen bar-rooms of Edgeworth. 

From the confused and fragmentary character of 
the records it would appear that the captain, fearing 
that he would be carried away beyond the chances of 
escape, besought the leader to come to an anchor. 
Confused entries in the log intimate that "a noise was 
heard on the deck, the dog-watch sprang from his 
caboose, seized the gig-whip, and, laying it over the 
dead eyes of the buoy, made him shin up the bow- 

142 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

sprit, catch hold of the sky-scraper, which he used so 
freely on the keelson that he rubbed off the shoe of 
the anchor, which was caught by the cat harpings, who 
commenced to spanker with the boom, till she burst 
through the stays, cutting the topsail ties, grabbed the 
monkey's tail, which knocked the Jew's eye out of the 
Turk's head, caught the ship round the waist with one 
hand, boxed the compass with the other, till the cook 
and the captain applied the leaches of the foresail to 
the inflamed eye of the needle." All of which only 
seems to convey the fact that either the science of sea- 
manship has greatly altered since that time, or the 
captain's records, and possibly the captain, were con- 
siderably mixed. 

In a word, the condition of the bark (which, by the 
way, was a brig) was getting rapidly critical, and the 
captain sought to confer with his illustrious passenger, 
only to find him impatient of every suggestion. His 
nautical knowledge was not particularlv extensive, if 
we may judge by the historiographer: "Ye captaine 
in this dire extremitie sought counselle of ye leader, 
saying, 'Behold, the night is as darke as Egypte, and 
I cannot finde my waye for want of ye observation,' 
whereupon ye leader waxed wrothe and sayeth he: 
T fitted out ye shippe regardless of expense, and such 
a store of observations shoulde have been obtainede 
as would have lasted for ye voyage!' " 

A few observations at this point seemed to have re- 
lieved the captain, but had little effect on the ship, and 
to a remark that he should have to trust to dead reck- 
oning, the leader of the expedition added the sug- 
gestion that he might consult the records of Bell Rock 
Cemetery. 

It is in such crises that the true qualities of great 
men are developed. The total collapse of the captain 

143 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

proved an example of such occasions. The leader 
snatched the speaking trumpet from the hands of the 
imbecile mariner, and, in a voice of authority hailed 
the forward watch: "What water have you there?" 
(He said, "Forward watch, ahoy!" too; but we don't 
want to be too nautical.) The crew instinctively felt 
that a leader had arisen, and through the driving rain 
a voice rang out clearly in answer: "Lashings av 
water, but not a drop av anything else here!" 

It was no time for hesitation. The last resource of 
desperate seamanship must now be attempted, and a 
feat unparalleled in nautical annals was accomplished. 
The stentorian tones of the great Puritan rang out 
through the wild elements: "Then put out a gang- 
plank, and let us walk ashore!" And they did. Con- 
sider for a moment the importance of this result. 
Imagine that the ship had urged on its wild career, 
and stopped at Linden! But we forbear. 

The captain, like a brave mariner, would have been 
the last to leave his ship, but the leader of the expe- 
dition sternly urged him forward. The historiographer 
is silent as to what immediately followed, out of respect 
to his chief, probably; but there is no doubt that he 
tilted the edge of the gang-plank, and sent the captain 
flying on to the main land. It appeared to the captain 
that this was not the proper way of treating a master 
mariner, and he immediately fell upon the great Pu- 
ritan. We have no space to record the details of this 
fight. The captain says: "Ye olde sonnc of a gunne 
tappyd ye clarete, and painted a mouse on my righte 
eye," from which it is safe to infer that he was badly 
handled. It was worthy of note that this was the 
first quarrel of white men on the soil which provoked 
bloodshed. 

In the midst of this conflict a native approached. 
144 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

He was a handsome specimen of his race, and carried 
himself with a lordly air, befitting a native monajxh 
of the forest, as he slowly approached the group, softly 
singing— 

"Lo, the poor Indian, with untutored mind, 
Comes to the shore to see what he can find." 

"Are you 'the noble savage?'" inquired the com- 
manding Puritan. 

The Indian's eye flashed for a moment, and his 
voice was perceptibly haughty as he replied — 

"My foot is on my native heath, and my name is 
Nanapashamet !" 



CHAPTER H. 

The cruel limitations of space involved in the pub- 
lication of a small weekly newspaper compelled us to 
leave the group of "forefathers" in the midst of a pelt- 
ing rainstorm on the banks of the Maiden River. 
Dangers, privations and hardships were the ordinary 
lot of the early settlers of this community. But it was 
a refinement of cruelty to add seven days' exposure 
to the elements to their sufferings; and the printer of 
The Headlight — not the writer of these chronicles — 
must be held responsible for the outrage. 

The "constant reader" will remember that the ex- 
ploring party had left their abandoned vessel by means 
of the gang-plank, and had safely reached the shore, 
when they were accosted by the native — a noble red 
man of the forest. 

The noble red man, it will be remembered, had an- 
swered the query of the voyagers as to his name by the 
somewhat dramatic announcement that "his foot was 
on his native heath, and his name was Nanapashamet!" 

145 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"What does he say?'' denianded the I'uritan leader 
of his secretan'. 

"Hold on a minute," repHcd John Milton, "till I 
get my North Ameriean Indian glossary. Oh! here 
it is: He says his foot is on his native — mud — no 
'heath,' and his name is Nanapashamet, and it sounds 
like a quotation from 'Rob Roy.' " 

His superior officer nodded assent. He would 
have agreed with equal readiness to a suggestion that 
the idea was taken from the Koran, if his secretary 
had so hinted. The Puritan had hired the scribe as 
literary man for the voyage, and was ready to appro- 
priate any suggestion. That's what private secretaries 
are hired for, anyway. 

The frank self-introduction of Nanapashamet sug- 
gested to the secretary that the introduction was so 
far somewhat one-sided. 

"Mr. Nanapashamet,' said he, "this is my friend 
Oliver Crom " 

An impatient exclamation from his employer 
checked the utterance of the name. 

"Oliver," murmured the red man — "Oliver? Do 
you mean H. K.?" 

"No; this is the O. K.," said the secretary, in a 
whisper, "the original and only Oliver, who never 
went back on his name, and made it 'Revilo' when he 
complained in the newspapers of the dust on the road." 

The Indian stood for a moment watching the 
group; Captain Marlin Spike seated on the sedgy bank 
of the river, vainly endeavoring, by means of a bunch 
of salt hay, to staunch the sanguinary current which 
flowed from his bruised proboscis, and holding the 
cool blade of a huge jack-knife against his inflamed 
right eye. 

The Puritan leader, thirsting for information, grew 
146 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

impatient at the reticence of the Indian, and said, 
briefly and sternly: 

"Well, Nanapashamet, speak!'' 

"We call it High Rock," said the Indian, softly. 
"Some fellers went up there a few years ago — Dan 
Milliken being the leader — when they wanted to get 
ofif some speeches that were more than usually indi- 
gestible, and they called it Nanapashamet's Peak, and 
talked loud enough for the dedication of a city park. 
But that did not prevent others from making the terri- 
tory into choice house lots. It's called Rockingham 
Avenue now. The march of the pale-faces has driven 
my people to the land of the setting sun. Soon the 
council fires will be quenched and the voice of the red 
man be heard no more by the shores of the big water." 

"Bad imitation of Fenimore Cooper,'' muttered the 
literary man. "This Indian's a regular literary pirate." 

"What is the name of this place?'' asked Captain 
Oliver of the Indian, not heeding the parenthesis of 
the historiographer. 

"Wanalansett," replied the melancholy Indian. 

"Wan' a lancet!" roared the sanguinary captain: 
"you thundering red-skinned varmint, do I look as if 
I wanted a lancet? Don't you s'pose I've lost claret 
enough already?" 

"Wanalansett," muttered the Puritan. "That will 
never do. The name is too poetic for a people who 
have shunned the vanities of the world. I must be- 
think me of a less high-sounding title. And what do 
you call the river which laves this territory?" 

"It doesn't lave this territory, except when the tide 
is out," gently corrected the red man, "and then it 
'laves' it altogether. But we call it the Missouri." 

"Missouri!'' repeated the literary man, "that means 
'muddy water,' don't it?" 

147 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"My brother is nearly right/' said the liuhan, 
<|uietly; "and the only thingf wrong about it is that 
this river is all mud and no water." 

"Smells like a sewer," muttered the master mariner. 

"Peace, ruffian!" said the Puritan, sternly. 

"Oh, yes! that's right; hit a fellow when he's down, 
will vou? It's the first fight that I ever was so mauled 
in"-^ — 

"Mauled in!" murmured the Puritan. Maulden, 
^lalden. Yes, that's it. The name is ugly enough. 
What say you to calling this place Maiden?" he said, 
sharply turning to his secretary. 

The. secretary was about to remark that he thought 
it was about the worst name that could be thought of, 
but remembering that his last quarter's salary was still 
in arrears, and that there were not many opportunities 
for him to change his situation, he assented with won- 
derful cheerfulness to his leader's suggestion. 

"Then Maiden let it be!" said"^ the Protector. 
"It will serve to remind posterity that the first fight 
between white men occurred on these shores!" And 
Maiden it was, and is. 



148 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



'Julius C^sar at Revere Beach* 

IVith a Personal Akiiiative of His Occupation of Maiden. 

The winter sessions of the Maiden Archseological 
Society are expected to be of an unusually interesting 
character, arising from the dififerent opinions held by 
the members as to the settlement of the locality. What 
is known as the classic party claim that Julius Caesar 
invaded Massachusetts, landing at Chelsea Beach, and 
establishing his headquarters in Maplewood, and they 
base their decision mainly on a seance held with the 
materialized Roman emperor, and the finding of an 
alleged cinerary urn and a Roman typebythepresident 
of the so-called society. In support of their argument 
they further claim that the president has a model of a 
galley — nay, a regularly equipped galley — in his pos- 
session, and this galley bears unmistakable evidence 
of occupation of the Roman type. 

Those who oppose this theory that Caesar invaded 
jMalden, hold, first, that there is not a particle of evi- 
dence to sustain the theory that Julius Csesar was in- 
sane, and that no man in his senses would have landed 
on Revere or Chelsea Beach. To the counter-argu- 
ment that Robinson Crusoe landed there, and that the 
Crusoe House was named after him, it is replied that 
Robinson Crusoe, though a model of common sense, 
couldn't help himself, anyway; he had to land just 
where the waves threw him. Besides, they urge that 
while the Crusoe House is prima facie evidence that 
Crusoe landed there, it is strongly suspected that those 
who claim that he lived there have read the solitary 
mariner's story as presented at the Howard, and are 
entirely innocent of having read Defoe's edition of the 
wonderful voyage. 

149 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

But this is not all. The opponents of Roman oc- 
cupation maintain that the alleged materialization of 
Julius C?esar at a Boston spiritual seance is not in itself 
unmistakable proof of a Roman invasion — even if it 
was Caesars ghost which did duty on that occasion. 
Tliey argue, first, that the $50 given to the medium 
was never paid to Julius Caesar; that he never wanted 
money and couldn't use it if he did; further that paper 
money is not current where Julius Caesar is; and, lastly, 
that a figure very much like the majestic Roman at 
the materialization seance was seen in a saloon on 
Dover Street communing with other spirits — and 
water (with very little water) — and that he was over- 
heard to say confidentially to a friend, 

" Du fules donatid ye spondulex," 

which, it is urged, is not the kind of Latin Caesar was 
in the habit of using, but is painfully suggestive, when 
rendered into English, of the fact that two fools had 
given the money wherewith the conmiimion was be- 
ing held. 

The cinerary urn, a description of which was pub- 
lished in the Records of the Society, w-as also con- 
demned, as . being of more recent origin than the 
Roman period, and that the model of a Roman pillar 
is not conclusive of the theory held by the so-called 
classicists. 

No. 3 party in the Archaeological institute stren- 
uously urge that the Norwegians, or rather the Norse- 
men, were the first to land on these shores, and they 
urge in behalf of their theory the result of a course of 
investigation at the North End of Pioston, and the 
West End of Maiden, with striking ethnological proof 
of the existence of descendants of the Vikings and the 
Bersekers — long since corrupted into Beerseekers; 

150 



SUXGS AND ARROWS 

and they are provided with testimony from Hjalmar 
Bjornstjerne and much sculpture to support their view. 

Finally there are those who claim that neither 
Roman, Norsemen, nor Oliver Cromwell discovered 
Maiden, but that she rose like a muddy Aphrodite out 
of the mud of the creek of the Mystic, and that the 
place was originally intended as a penal settlement. 

The President of the Archaeological Society's 
paper, read at a recent meeting, in the opinion of the 
"classicists," fully establishes the fact that Julius Caesar 
landed at Revere Beach, and established his head- 
quarters in Maiden. It is somewhat unfortunate for 
the dignity of history that this paper should have been 
presented in the shape of poetry, yet it is gratifying to 
know that the President's communing with the spirit 
of Julius Caesar was attended with no personal incon- 
venience. 



THE ROMAN OCCUPATION OF MALDEN. 

(The Notes by the Curator of the Society.) 

I want an invocation; for heroic verse, 

According to all precedent, demands a 
High-falutin, pompous kind of prayer 

Should always occupy the foremost stanza. 
Unlike Lord Byron, I have found my hero: 

Great Caesar's self came from the land of mystery. 
(The medium said his price was fifty dollars 

For giving me these points of Roman history.) 

I must admit, considering his great age. 

The old gent's memory was most tenacious; 

His manner stern, but, when the cash was paid. 
The medium said, he grew exceeding gracious; 
iSi 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Was quite au fait on subjects of the times, 
And freely from our modern poets quoted, 

Mixing their rhymes quite oddly with the facts, 
In just the style you find hereafter noted: — 

(Mrs. Hemans.) 
''The breaking waves dashed high 
On a stern and rock bound coast," 
When Julius Caesar landed 

On Revere Beach with his host. 

(Joseph Rodman Drake.) 
"When Freedom from her mountain height 

Unfurled her banner to the air," 
He marched 'em to the Ocean House, 
And fed 'em with clam chowder there. 

(Whittier.) 
"Aland Aluller, on a summer's day," 
The Romans saw down Linden way. 

(Whittier. "Barbara Freitchie.") 
"Up the street came the Roman tread," 
Julius Caesar riding ahead. 

("Stonewall Jackson's Way.") 
"We see him now, the old slouched hat. 
Cocked o'er his eye askew," 
As right in front of a grocery store 
His bridle-rein he drew. 

(The Shan Van Vocht." — Anonymous.) 
"And where will they have their camp?" 

Says the Shan Van Vocht. 
* * * * 

152 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"What will the yeoman do? 
For things are looking blue, 
And I'm getting in a stew/' 
Is just what Caesar thought. 

(Boker. "Black Regiment.") 

"Down the long dusty line 
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine." 

"When can we hope to dine?" 
(This was the great event 
In Caesar's regiment.) 

(Key. "Star Spangled Banner.") 
"O, say, can you see by the dawn's early light 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last 
gleaming?'' 
The cold beef and crackers, the blue-fish and lobsters. 
And the Ocean House chowder so fragrantly 
steaming. 

(G. H. McMaster. "Old Continentals.") 

"Then with eyes to the front all 
And with guns horizontal'' 

Stood they well. 
And the hungry ranks grew' frantic 
And they said — "This little antic 

Is a miserable sell." 
And louder, louder, louder grew the yell for the clam 

chowder ; 
And Caesar's spirits fell. 

(Ingoldsby. Parody of "Burial of Sir John Moore.") 

"Not a sou had he got, not a guinea or note, 
And he looked confoundedly worried, 
As he bolted away without paying his shot, 
And the grocer after him hurried! 
153 



SLIXGS AND ARROWS 

(Bryant. "Song of Marion's Men.") 

'Our fortress is the good greensward, 
Our tents the cypress tree. 
I'ack to the pathless forest 
IV'fore the break of day.'' 
'I'^or there ain't a free ktncli in the town. 
And we've got no means to pay." 



If any doubt exists as to the reasonableness of the 
author's assertion that Julius Caesar landed at Revere 
Beach, and that his legions occupied ]\Ialden, we refer 
to the archives and the Museum of the Archaeological 
Institute. An account of a series of remarkable dis- 
coveries of Roman remains will be found therein, and 
tlie articles themselves, in a marvellous state of preser- 
vation, are open to the most careful inspection, on ap- 
plication to the president. Owing to a jealousy, we 
regret to say, not infrequent among learned societies, 
the N. E. Historic-Genealogical Society has not em- 
bodied the notice of these discoveries in its debates. 
The order in which these articles were found was as 
follows: — 

A])ril 1st. The President, while relieving his anti- 
quarian mind by the pursuit of practical horticulture, 
came across a small piece of metal, which at first he 
raked contemptuously aside as unworthy of notice. 
Shortly after, with that keen sense of investigation 
which renders him so specially fitted for his position, 
he took the despised piece of metal and closely ex- 
amined it. A special meeting of the M. A. I. was at 
once convened, when the discovery was laid before 
them. It was a small oblong piece of mixed metal, 

154 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

apparently forming a portion of a curious model, the 
pediment of the pillar being- slightly concave b, and at 
a certain distance fluted, c, on one or two places. 
^ The capital of the model pillar was bevelled, r, and 
and on the apex was seen the Latin letter C, d, in 
alto-relievo. The annexed diagram shows its 
construction and general design. It is gratif}ing 
to be able to state that the members with one ac- 
cord pronounced the pillar to be of a decidedly 
Roman Type. 

The second discovery, bv the same distin- 
guished gentleman, occurred three days later; 
and though opinion is diveded as to the use of the 
fragment found, the members were unanimous in 
their estimate of the value of the discovery. This 
was a small conical vessel of white clay, about an 
inch in diameter, and tapering down to a fine 
]x:)int. About half an inch from the bottom, a 
shank or handle projected, — the shank being per- 
forated. Some fine ashes were found at the base; 
and the vessel generally bore marks of incinera- 
tion. Various theories as to its use have been pro- 

THE CINERARY URN. 



C :-A 



Longitudinal section, showing method of perforation. 

pounded; but the whole subject will have to be re- 
ferred to the Smithsonian Institute. If any doubt ex- 
isted as to its antiquity, the presence of a Roman 
cryptograph (not yet solved) satisfactorily proves its 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

age. The first inscription is on the outside of the 
cone, and consists of two letters only, "T. D.," doubt- 
less the initials of Tiberius Dentatus; and on the handle 
of the vessel the inscription, in bas relief, "G....S 
G . . . . V." The annexed diagram shows the vessel, 
and fig\ I tlie shank or handle. 

The discussion of the President's paper in support 
of the theory that Julius Caesar invaded Massachusetts, 
and that his legions occupied Maiden, took place im- 
mediately after the reading of the paper. The ob- 
jections to the theory were foreshadowed in the intro- 
duction to this article, and need not be repeated here. 
The meeting was a large and enthusiastic one, and the 
classicists who supported the President's views as to 
the Roman conquest were unanimous in their praises 
of the powerful arguments, and the concurred testi- 
mony of the poets by which they were sustained. 

The relics — the model type and the cinerary urn — 
were eagerly scanned by both parties, and the galley 
evoked genuine enthusiasm from all present. The soli- 
tary dissentient who declared that it was too small for 
purposes of war or of military transportation, since it 
could hold so few, was triumphantly sat upon by the 
undisputed assertion of the printer of this paper that 
it had been known to hold a column of 5,000, — and 
an open column at that. 



156 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Che Delayed 6pic» 




To the Editor of the Maiden Headlight: 

Epic be hanged! No, sir, it isn't coming; 

A glance above will show the reason why. 
The relics of dyspepsia from Thanksgiving, 

And present gout, has knocked the thing sky-high. 
When was the inspiration of the Muses equal 

To coping with such maladies as these? 
I only write to fill the usual column. 

And keep secure my weekly bread and cheese. 



The gout in question is a family relic, 
Bequeathed by ancestors of long ago. 

I sometimes wish they hadn't been so generous, 
Or found some other place than my big toe 
157 



SLIXGS AND ARROWS 

In which their only heirloom could be gathered, 
They once possessed broad acres, gold galore; 

I've got the only acher left, and that's so tender 
I'm forced to use a crutch to cross the floor. 

^ly gout, of course, suggests that they lived "high;" 

I live high, too — my room is called an attic; 
Thus, spite of changes, "blood will always tell," 

And find expression by a means emphatic. 
I venerate my sires who fought at Hastings, 

And wrested Magna Charta from King Jack, 
Or chased, with Drake, the Spaniards o'er the ocean. 

And with doubloons came gaily sailing back. 

I only wish they'd stuck to that same pastime, 

Those ancestors of mine, so stern and stout. 
And found no piping times of peace to practice 

The cultivation of a family gout. 
Blisters and colchicum! Excuse this groaning; 

That twinge was really more than I could bear. 
It seemed as if my ancestors w'ere pulling 

Me by the toe from out the family chair. 

My gout's a legacy of intermittent action. 

And largely due to high-fed English sires. 
My later ancestors who came to Plymouth, 

Living on beans, and free from gross desires, 
Nigh kille'd the family gout. It would have died, 

According to the law of evolution. 
But for the freer style of life that marked 

The period of our glorious Revolution. 

This bit of genealogy is offered. 

With possibilities of some exception ; 
I don't profess to trace the current clear. 

And may be guilty of some self-deception. 
IS8 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

I don't feel certain of the Pilgrim branch. 

I'd much prefer to know my sires had fought 
In that great struggle which the Pilgrims fled from. 

Where Eliot, Pym and hvave old Cromwell wrought. 

It's likely that my sires once played their parts, 

Here on this spot against a king's exaction; 
Perhaps on the other side ; the fact would not 

For me possess a lesser satisfaction. 
Mayhap they fought like Britons to prevent 

The thirteen colonies from rank secession. 
We learned their war-cry eighty-five years later — 

A wonderful example of progression. 

But if a poet is to have the gout. 

A high-flown pedigree won't hurt the mixture — 
('Twas necessary something should be done 

As some excuse for putting in the picture) ; 
Staffs poets who are paid on space submit 

Even to gout from sense of duty solemn. 
I'd amputate my leg (that is, on paper) 

To save myself from writing up a column. 




159 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Cbc Ode to IMalden. 



(From the Maiden Headlight, Nov. 16, 1881.) 

PRELUDE. 

Hail, Maiden! younj^est city of the State, 
Whose civic troubles, like a young bear's teeth. 
Have yet to come. You start upon your course 
Under conditions highly favorable. And I, 
The hireling poet of a mercenary printer, 
Respectfully salute your rising power. 
And lay a votive offering of blank verse 
(And very blank at that) at your fair feet, 
And wish you every possible success. 

THE EPIC. 

I would not dare to breathe the slightest hint 
Which hostile critics might miscall detraction, 
So much of beauty shows upon thy face. 
That I would rather dwell on each attraction ; 
Paint with a glowing pencil each fair scene. 
And add if possible to Nature's dowry, 
Although the flattery has of late been thick. 
Not gently shed, but poured out rather showery. 

I love thee. Maiden, but my love's platonic, 
Although the quality is most emphatic. 
I've got a wife "to home," and so the feeling, 
I grieve to say, cannot be too ecstatic. 
It's only the Deliberative Club 
Can let its passion overlap all reason 
And talk of "lovely bride," which is a shame, 
And, for old married men, quite out of season. 
160 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

I own it's easy to "adopt a country" 

('Tis done to swell the votes at each election), 

Though some of the adoptors mig-ht not please, 

If that country made a fair selection. 

But when it comes to wedding a whole city, 

I must confess I shrink from such a duty; 

I really cannot do it — though Jerome H. Fiske 

Rightly insists that Maiden is a beauty. 

In spite of speches at the "Delib.'s" supper, — 
Though the new city is a source of pride, 
I can't afiford to run the risk of stating 
That Maiden is "my own. my lovely bride." 
There is a lady who would raise objection 
(Being somewhat literal) to this expression, 
My "legal enemy" owns me entirely. 
And will not yield a jot of her possession. 

This understood, O. Maiden! I adore thee! 
I like the glorious hills which round thee nestle; 
Whose tree-clad summits woo the Summer breeze 
And with the Winter storms so proudly wrestle ; 
Or, yielding to the ardent sun's embrace. 
Blush crimson in the fall at his fierce glances; 
Or wear the Winter crown of snow so chastely, 
And melts in tears of rain as Spring advances. 

This vertebras of solid granite hills, 
From out whose clefts the hardy maples spring, 
Whose silvered foliage bends to every breeze. 
And in whose woods the merry song-birds sing. 
Seem, in their vernal grandeur, to be saying. 
Here is a type of our fair city life, — 
She yields to every breath of public motion. 
But a strong purpose underlies the strife. 
i6i 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



H Listening CKorld. 



"Every manifestation of the public will in this 
country is regarded with interest, not to say apprehen- 
sion, by the governing- parties of the older communi- 
ties. The whole world listens when the freemen of 
America speak." — [Extract from a Maiden Fourth of 
July oration.] 

Britannia bends a listening ear 

Close down upon the table, 
To catch the first click of the news 

That's flashed across by cable. 
Even Irish troubles vex her not. 

Nor fair trade, nor protection ; 
She waits with anxious, nervous dread, 

The news of our election. 

Prince Bismarck has a little scheme. 

To lead all Europe war-ward. 
But with Kalnoky to the West 

Is eager looking forward. 
Why stand they thus, with eager eyes, 

Absorbed in our direction? 
Europe must wait, until they hear 

How goes our next election. 

Even Alex. III. peeps from his fort 

For information yearning. 
And Grevy, striving to be calm, 

Is with impatience burning; 
162 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

The stolid Turk makes little sign, 
The Greek appears dejected, 

And will remain so till he hears 
From Maiden who's elected. 

The baby king of Spain's in tears, 

His mother thinks him ailing, 
And anxious King Umberto swears, 

While Marguerite is wailing. 
Prince Ferdinand the Bulgars trust. 

But hate to see him lost on 
Any attempt to get results 

By cablegram from Boston. 

The king of Siam eager waits. 

The khan of Khiva's worried, 
The two Tycoons of famed Japan — 

Both wish the news was hurried. 
Australia ceases to advance, 

The Fijians don't feel called on 
To do a stroke until they hear 

Who is the Mayor of Maiden. 

In short, the world is standing still 

On us alone awaiting. 
If what the speaker said was true 

When last July orating. 
It's kind o' rough to keep the globe 

From turning on its axis. 
Because we haven't chosen yet 

What folks shall spend our taxes. 



163 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



[Moral Reform. 



Mustapha Chokh as a Patron of Pure Literature — 
Stories of Piracy and Alutiny at Sea, with Moral 
Attached. 

To the Editor of The Malden Headlight: 

Sir. — I have joined the Moral Reform Society, 
and am a Moral Reformer of the strictest type. My 
aim is to supply literature for the rising generation 
which shall combine high-pressure morality with those 
elements of adventure which every boy delights in, 
and which spirit, if rightly directed, shall serve to keep 
up the supply of Arctic explorers, Indian scouts and 
mariners for the next generation. The ordinary 
philanthropist, who seeks to create a high-moral lit- 
erature, generally begins by reprinting foreign books, 
and foreign publishers and authors enjoy the satis- 
faction of seeing their works become popular, and 
profitable — to the pirates. They grumble that this 
moral publication idea begins in robbery from them, 
and complain that they ought to reap some benefit, as 
if the moral education of our embryo citizens were not 
reward enough for anyone. It is indeed true moral 
reform which has its foundation in international liter- 
ary theft. 

If the captious reader thinks the following is an 
imitation of the "Bab Ballads," he has only to read 
the "Bab Ballads" to see that Gilbert never wrote like 
Mustapha Chokh. He coiddn't do it. 'Twould be as 
much as his reputation was worth. 

Mustapha Chokh. 
164 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Che JMate of the Betsy lane. 



It was the schooner Betsy Jane, 

For Boston from Quincee, 
And the skipper had hobbled down below 

To take his rye whiskee. 

Red was his nose as a carrot tip, 

His breath of potations told. 
And the only use for water he swore. 

Was to float his vessel bold. 

The skipper he turned up from below 

With a new light in his eye. 
And he looked aloft and he looked alow. 

And he gazed at the evening sky. 

"A good fair wind and an easy sea, 
And a first-rate mate I've got; 
ril finish that bottle of Bourbon,'' he said, 
And his vessel he soon forgot. 

Oh, woe for the skipper who filled so full! 

The mate was a pirate bold, 
And he took a deep oath on a marlin-spike, 

That his aim was gore and gold. 

He had read of the deeds of Morgan and Teach, 

And he revelled in Captain Kidd, 
And he spent a year on Squantum beach 

In searching for treasure hid. 
165 



SUNGS AND ARROWS 

He laughed to scorn the winds and waves, — 

"I'm the Sea King, and I'll fix 
This vessel up as a pirate craft" 
(She was loaded then with bricks). 

O, the chaste full moon looked down that night 

On a lad of royal mien, 
\\'ho stood at the helm of the Betsy Jane, 

Aged just about thirteen. 

He aimed to rival the Boy Buccaneer, 
And he cautiously looked around, 

And matured his plans as the vessel sailed 
P^rom Ouincy to Boston town. 

He would take the Betsy Jane to sea 

Ho, ho, for the Spanish Main! 
And the Florida Keys and the Bahamese, 

And Hurrah for the Betsy Jane! 

He would make the skipper walk the plank. 
And the plank he accordingly fixed. 

He would stand at the end and tilt it up, — 
Oh, he knew the pirates" tricks! 

So he called the skipper up from below 

And he gently led the way, 
Where the plank was leading from the side 

To the waters of the bay. 

Full half a foot o'er the raging sea 
The end of the plank was fixed, — 

The Betsy Jane sailed very low 

(She was loaded deep with bricks). 
i66 



SUNGS AND ARROWS 




"He tumbled him over into the sea." 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

And the pirate armed with a niarhn-spike 

Drove the captain to his doom; 
lie tumbled him over into the sea, 

Abaft of the mizzen jib-boom. 

Then loudly laughed the pirate bold, 
And again he laughed in glee, 
"Tlirough Shirley Gut the Betsy Jane 
Will sail away to sea!" 

But alas for the schemes of the pirate bold! 

The skipper on board had climbed, 
And, w'ith a rope's end in his hand. 

He gently came behind. 

The laughter came to a sudden end, 

The pirate's reign was o'er! 
When he rose from athwart the Captain's knee 

He seemed to feel quite sore. 

The Betsy Jane sailed on her way, 

From Quincy to Boston town ; 
But 'twas fifteen days ere the pirate bold 

Found comfort in sitting down. 



# 



^ 



i68 



SUNOS AND ARROWS 



Hn Bmergency Lecture* 



He sighed, she blushed, then turned her head- 
He fell upon his knees, 

And poured forth tender words of love 
In broken Bostonese. 

■'I offer thee my name, 'tis one 

On old John Winthrop's charter; 
The name (I might have said at first) 
Algernon Sidney Carter." 

She smiled, but 'twas a cultured smile — 

He felt his hopes grow colder; 
She owned to seeing twenty years — 

Algy was four years older. 

"Please rise, dear Algernon,'' she said, 
And her request he grants, — 
'Twas awkward anyway to kneel 
In tightly fitting pants. 

"I love you Algy dear," she said, 
"But more the cause of science" — 
He muttered hastily, "Good bye. 
Forget me, as I fly hence. 

"I never thought your taste for moths 
Could prove of love an index; 
I don't mind metaphysics, but 
I draw the line at insects." 
169 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

She sighed, then sighed and sighed again, 

To give her feehngs scope; 
Then fixed a Hving subject 'neath 

Her dainty microscope. 

But here the charms of science failed, 
For once, to yield abstraction; 

She threw the microscope aside 
And took decided action. 

Down the steep balustrade she "slode" — 
Tliey learn the way at Vassar — 

Algernon met her in the hall. 
He did not try to pass her. 

What followed there was never known, 

But science lost a martyr, 
And, in due course, Minerva Briggs 

Became Minerva Carter. 



MORAL. 

There is a moral somewhere here, 
Which Boston girls may guess; 

Don't let your taste for science check 
A plump and hearty yes. 

Don't slide adown the balustrade — 

Unless in cases where 
You'd lose a husband by the slow 

Descent of every stair. 



170 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Ye Ballade. 



Of Ye Gentle Conductaire and Ye Younge Widowe's Babie. 

Once I knew a car conductor (the name, Bill Jones, 

is spurious 
And is only used to thwart the vicious efforts of the 

curious). 

A sober, serious man, with a strictly moral bias,_ 
Very grave, and staid and stately, though perhaps not 
wholly pious. 

Rill Jones about his duties would proceed with rare 
precision ; 

He was always level-headed and he acted with de- 
cision. 

To the passengers he seemed a man of most unusual 
meekness ; 

He was perhaps a little shy. but it was his only weak- 
ness. 

"Gentle Jones'' the people named him, for he had a 
gentle wa}-; 
When he murmured "All right, go ahead!" he always 
seemed to say: 

"Pray proceed with extra caution, for we have a prec- 
ious freight!" 
And the caution with the engineer, we hope, had 
always weight. 

171 



SUNGS AND ARROWS 

He was quite polite to ladies, and on children fairly 

doted, 
For attention to the latter he was 'round the country 

noted. 

He would take the "precious pledges," as he called 

them, in his arms, 
And he never tired of listening to the details of their 

charms. 

For the youngsters he had candies in his pockets 

always stored. 
And the babies' eyes gleamed brightly when they 

came his cars aboard. 

And Conductor Jones would smile and say, "It is to 

me a treat, 
I give the candies rightly, for the sweets are for the 

sweet." 

Once a widow, young and handsome, on a depot 

platform waited 
For Conductor Jones's train, which seemed a little 

mite belated 

(He had stopped at one way station to procure some 

paregoric 
For a "precious pledge,*' which seemed to Jones to 

suffer from the colic). 

But the widow waited for him with a patience that 

was charming. 
And she soothed with sweet-toned lullal)y her baby's 

cries alarming. 

172 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Conductor Jones stepped off his train, and saw the 

grievin' widder, 
Whose crape veil, fifteen yards in length, from close 

inspection hid her. 

"May I take your precious babe on board?" Bill Jones 
politely asked; 
He would have counted it a sin to see her strength so 
tasked. 

She gave the baby with a smile, and gulp, as of 

emotion, 
Conductor Jones then waved his hand and put the 

train in motion. 

Alas, for woman's pei-fidy, the widow him preceded, 
And as he entered in the front, she from the rear 
receded. 

With agile step she left the train and in the distance 

vanished, 
And left Conductor Jones her babe, from her forever 

banished. 

Conductor Jones, with babe in arms, in vain the cars 

inspected. 
The whole train seemed to be in smiles, Bill Jones 

alone excepted. 

He bore the babe to Boston, and he stood outside the 

door 
(Babe in arms), to help the ladies down, as oft he'd 

done before. 

173 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

No widow came to claim her babe, and Jones was in 

dismay, 
And the other fellows grinned and winked, which 

was just their wicked way. 

But the transportation agent, with a humor most 

sardonic, 
Wrote a note dismissing Jones, which contained this 

hint laconic, — 

'Better run a home for foundlings, for which you have 

a starter;" 
And poor Jones, for his politeness, was thusly made a 

martyr. 

Years have passed, and Bill is searching, with a pa- 
tience few can equal, 

For the widow. When she's found. 1*11 try to write 
the sequel. 



^S"^^^ 



174 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Cbe Steward of the Singapore. 



It was an Ancient Mariner 

Who rang the front-door bell, 

With gold-laced cap and rolling gait, 
The part he acted well. 

It was the lady of the house 
Who opened wide the door: 
"JNIy lady; I am steward of 
The brave old Singapore. 

"She's lying at East Boston now; 
Where all the gallant Cu- 
Narders land their passengers; 
I'm steward in her crew. 

"And I have here a case of knives ; 
The which — if I'm not aheard, — 
Have come ashore, without the form 
Of seeing Mister Beard. 

"They cost me just five dollars, Ma'rm 
They're marked real triple plate, 
I bought them for a party, who 
Have skipped from out the State." 

Then up the subtle lady spoke; 
"I know the Singapore, 
And on her voyage to Liverpool 
She's half-way out or more. 
175 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"An' if ye be the steward bold, 
She's given you the sHp, 
I pray thee, gentle steward, go 
And join another ship. 

"These triple-plated knives have ne'er 
Paid any import dues; 
They make 'em in Connecticut; 
They're just the sort I use. 

"So Gentle Mariner, sheer ofif!" 
He beat a quick retreat; 
But sold his "smuggled" knives and spoons 
A few doors down the street. 



176 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 
Che Color Bearer at fredericksburg. 



"Here is the spot," the old man said, 

"See v/here the ground-vines bravely grow. 
Trailing their lithe limbs o'er the mounds 

Heaped high more'n twenty years ago. 
Here stood our boys — 'the Rebs,' you say? 

It ain't our fashion so to name 'em ; 
Though it was the name their grandsires bore, 
When George was King, and tried to tame 'em. 

"I think I see it now — the guns, 

Muzzles depressed, that swept the slope, 
Backed by a wood behind, which held 

An army in its ample scope. 
And at the base a purling stream. — 

'Tis summer now, and seems a-sleeping — 
But then it ran a spring-time flood 

O'er sandy shallows bravely leaping. 

"There crossed the Yanks — I think I see. 

Again, the gallant boys in blue 
Form at the base and open files, 

While round like hail our bullets flew. 
Then up the hill we saw them dash, ' 

Our whistling bullets never heeding. 
Though quicker far than I can tell 

Full half upon the ground were bleeding. 

'But soon their shells our range had found, 
And in our woodland covert dashing, 

Spread death and havoc fiercely 'round. 
The trees around us ever crashing. 
177 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

We piled ihc hillside with their dead, 
They death for deatli on us retorted, 

Grinding our strength to powder, as 

Their own brave escalade was thwarted. 

'But once again the lines of blue 

Upon the rivers bank was forming, 
And swiftly up the steep hillside 

The second line essayed the storming. 
I saw^ their leader — but a boy — 

His bright young face w^ith ardor beaming. 
Grasp at the colors as they fell, 

And hold "em up on high a-streaming. 

'Like snow upon a mountain crest. 

When rays of sunmier sun are shining, 
His brave command had passed away, 

Their bodies all the hillside lining. 
Yet still on high he held the flag, 

As though a legion gathered 'round him, 
Till his life-blood the stripes bedewed. 

And lying on its folds we found him. 

''Dead?' no. thank God; the brave lad breathed; 

He lived, maybe is living yet; 
That ugly scar above his eye, 

I'm sure, I never shall forget. 
Three fingers of his left hand missing. — 

Why, you're the boy! I don't mind saying, 
I'm glad it ended as it did. 

To keep us from the old flag straying." 



178 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 




Yet still on high he held the flag. 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



H Russian CCJar T>ymn — 1878. 



We're coming, Alexander, at least a million more. 
From Kanineshaeja's bay and Obskalagouba's shore; 
From Karakouska's frozen wild, from Tyniskaia's 

plain, 
We're marching, Alexander, with all our might and 

main. 

From Gatmonschino's forests, from Tschernorbcskoi's 

vale, 
hVom Wassiagourbska's blooming fields, from Olym- 

skia's dale. 
From Kakamajora's villages, from Meidoucharki's 

Isle, 
We're coming, Alexander, the weary rank nad file. 

From polysyllabic villages we're marching gayly 

down, 
And we're going to rot in Turkey to gild anew your 

crown ; 
We're on to Schernavoda, and Krajojevacz we seek, 
And we're headed by some generals whose names no 

tongues can speak. 

From provinces and districts whose names before the 

eye 
Look like an algebraic problem tumbled into pi. 
We "arolows" and "offskies," "efifs" and "ofTs" and 

vitches," 
For Holy Church and pious Czar will die in Turkish 

ditches. 

180 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Che JMutiny on the Sairey Hnti, 



It was the schooner Sairey Ann 
That sailed the summer sea; 

And the skipper's wife she came aboard, 
For a masterful dame was she. 




Of stature tall as her native pines, 

Cheeks angular and thin; 
And her eyes like a weasel's, sharp and clear, 

Pierced through one like a pin. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm. 

His heart was in his mouth; 
T wish Matilda would come up on deck, 

I'm suffering much from drouth. 
i8i 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"She keeps the key of the locker," he said, 
"And I'm dyin', a'niost, fer a sip; 
A skipper who carries his wife aboard 
Is only the mate of a ship. 

"She's steward, and bo'sun, and cap'n and crew, 
And I'm but a loblolly b"y!" 
In the slack of his breeches he took up a reef, 
And he heaved the loo^ with a sigh. 




Then he hailed the lookout on the mizzentop truck. 
From the fo'ks'l he called up the watch. 

And he bribed a galoot with the toe of his boat 
To fasten the cabin-door latch. 

l32 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

And the crew held a caucus right there on the deck, 

The skipper, of course, in the chair; 
For the spirit of '76 was aroused, 

And mutiny breathed in the air. 

Then a shellback who'd sailed in the old Sairev Ann, 
When the skipper was single and free, 

Said: "We used to have rye sarved out all around, 
Instead of this cat-lap called tea. 

"Fm in favor of saying we won't work this ship 
Any more, on seven-eighths water grog;" 
It was put to the vote, and the crew all said aye. 
And they swore a deep oath on the log. 

And the skipper was named a committee of one 

To treat with the cap'n below; 
He would have refused, but his throat was too dry, 

Yet with fear to the task he did go. 

lUit he stealthily crept to the cabin hatchway 

And he cjuietly opened the door; 
Where he found Mrs. Jones, rolling-pin in her hand, 

Mounting guard o'er the whiskey in store. 

The skipper was brave as a lion, 'twas said. 
But he shook in his shoes when he saw her, 

Yet the sight of the keys set his heart in a flame, 
And he thought with fine phrases to thaw her. 

"Matilda, my dear, the pride of my heart. 
There's mutiny onto this ship. 
The crew have met in a caucus, and swore 
They'll take to the longboat and skip; 

183 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"They're tired, they say, of seven-water grog, 
They want it a httle more stiff;" 
But Captain Matilda's nose went in the air, 
And she gave a contemptuous sniff. 

'T'll show 'em who's boss of this barky," she said; 
"I've fed 'em hke cattle in clover." 
The rolling i)in fell on Eliphalet's head 
With a force that knocked him clean over. 




She marched o'er his body right on to the deck, 

The crew in a body looked blue; 
The look-out shinned up the back bobstay aloft. 

The boy in the galley hid, too. 

The watch below, which had come up on deck, 
Now scampered the quickest way down ; 

And Matilda Jane Jones stood triumphant on deck- 
There wasn't a mutinous sound. 

184 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

'If there's any more growling aboard of this ship 

I'll cut ofif the baccy as well!" 
The skipper and crew went down on their knees, 

And penitent tears from them fell. 




The key of the locker Matilda still kept, 
But she wouldn't of victory boast, 

So she generously fed 'em with water and milk, 
And occasionally added some toast. 

The brave Sairey Ann made her port in a week. 

And a meeker crew never landed ; 
Matilda marched 'em ofif to a blue-ribbon club; 

She was president, too, when they banded. 




185 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



JMan's Inhutnanity to [Man. 



"Man wants but little here below, 
Nor wants that little long/' 
So runs the oft-repeated text 
Of that old-fashioned song. 

My wants are few, and easy met, — 
I don't desire a store of wealth ; 

Content if lodged and clothed and fed, 
A little fun, and robust health. 

My wants, indeed, are few. Alas! 

I wish all others were; 
But many other people seek 

My little store to share. 

My landlord wants from me his rent. 
My grocer wants his littfe bill; 

The tailor wants to claim a part, — 
I hardly can their wants fulfill. 

The city w^ants its taxes paid; 

The butcher swears in accents solemn, 
He wants some cash, and so the list 

Might be extended to a column. 

"Man wants but little here below," 

And I the world could live at peace in ; 
'Tis other folks wdio want so much. 

And whose demands are never ceasing. 
i86 



SLJNGS AND ARROWS 



Love and Hrt, 



"Angelina, dost thon love me? 

Does that blush upon your cheek 
Show the tide of passion swelling 

Of a love you dare not speak? 
From the lovely lips that falter 

I appeal to that meek blush!" 
But she softly answered, " 'Tis a bit 

Of rouge which makes that flush." 

"Angelina, Angelina, 

In my eyes divinely fair, 
With that delicate complexion, 

Like a peach-bloom, 'ripe and rare; 
Lay your head upon this bosom, 
On this faithful heart find rest;'' 
"It would leave," she whispered softly, 
"Powdered chalk upon your vest!" 

"Will you wed me, Angelina?" 
And she shyly answered "Yes;" 
And I strove upon her lovely lips 

The bargain to impress. 
But she bashfully repulsed me 
For a reason very clear: 
"I've just fixed 'em, Harry darling. 
And the carmine is so dear." 

Then I looked quite disappointed ; 

And I thought I saw the swelling 
Of the tear-drops, on her eyelids 

And her lovely lashes dwelling. 
187 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"Let it be my task," I pleaded, 

To remove all trace of sorrow;" 
And she coyly yielded, whispering-, 
"They'll need pencilling to-morrow/' 

Then w^e laughed and sighed together 

And I saw her lips disclose 
A set of pearly teeth which gleamed 

Against her lips of rose. 
And I told her they were charming, 

And she said in liquid tones: 
" 'Twas the best; the dentist told me, 

And they cost me eighty 'bones,' " 

"Angelina, Angelina, — 

As I sgjid, divinely fair, — 
Like a mass of molten sunshine 
Gleams your lovely golden hair." 
"Yes, 'tis lovely," Angie murmured, 
"And it suits my costume's colors; 
But it's getting out of fashion, 
Though it cost me fifty dollars." 

"May I have a lock, my dearest?"' 

And she generously replied, 
"You may have the whole caboodle, 
For I hate to have it dyed. 
I'll have another suit of hair 
When next I go to town; 
And I think Til try dark auburn 
Or a lovely chestnut brown !" 

"Angelina, Angelina, 

Will you love me when I'm old, 
i88 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

When the snowy locks of age replace 
The youthful crown of gold ; 

When wrinkles on my forehead trace 
The cares of many years, 

When cheeks are thin, and eyes are dim. 
And duller are these ears?" 

"O my love," cried Angelina, 

Mine to-day and mine forever! 
With the hair restorers, darling, 

We will mock old Time's endeavor. 
Eye-glasses are no sign of age, 

Nor yet of weakening sight; 
Twixt audiphone and dentist, 

And painter, we'll be right." 

"Art is long, and time is fleeting," 

Thus I murmured from the poet. 
And my Angle, in concurrence. 

Gently rippled, "Yes I know it; 
But we'll beat old Time quite hollow, 

For Time wastes, while Art is thrifty ; 
If we should fill our seventy years, 

We're sure to pass for fifty." 



189 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Che Black (Hatch. 



42d Royal Highlanders. 



Since first to England Scotia fair was wed, 
Her warlike sons have won a glorious name, 

On many a hard-fought battle field have bled, 
And gained the deathless laurel wreath of fame. 

As when on Fontenoy's ensanguined field. 

The exulting foe their valorous vengeance felt, 

And from their deadly onslaught backward reeled, 
As summer hail before the sunbeams melt. 

Or when upon Egypta's deserts drear. 
Brave Abercrombie fell in mortal strife, 

The dying hero heard their joyous cheer. 
And victory soothed his ebbing tide of life. 

Or, led by that great Captain — whose keen glance. 
Approving, seemed our father's highest pride — 

By years of warfare, on exultant France, 

From fair Iberian plains rolled back war's tide. 

Where'er their country's foes were found. 

'Neath India's burning sun, or Crimean snows, 
True sons of noble sires in v^^ar renowned, 
No less in these the warlike ardor glows. 

'None with impunity dare ever touch" 

The kilted ranks, inflamed with martial fire. 
Who wrested Lucknow from the tiger's clutch. 
And on the Sepoys wreaked a vengeance dire. 
190 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Che Rope of the fathers — 

Che pride of the Sons. 




The royal standard waves 

o'er Windsor's keep, 
Glowing^ with sunlight 

from the eastern sky, 
And as its folds the wooing 

winds caress 

The loiid-moiithed cannons greet the banner high, 
igi 



''■^^£ 



^^er- 



SLINGS AND ARROW ^ 

Loud ring- the echoes through the stately hills; 

The White Horse vale prolongs the cheering sound ; 
Where good King Alfred won his patriot fight 

The echoes linger lovingly around. 

Westward the signal flies, and on the seas 

From stately ships the answer fills the breeze ; 

Till Halifax and gray old Quebec shake 

With joy-bells' peal and cannons' thunderous quake. 

From where St. Lawrence meets Atlantic tides, 

To where the Frazer to the ocean glides. 

Each stately city, forest, farm and field, 

Loyal and bounteous, all their homage yield. 

From the new Britain 'neath the southern sky 

A million loyal voices make reply. 

The lovely islands of the Indian main 

Repeat with perfumed breath the glad refrain. 

From Afghan frontier forts the cannons' roar 

Prolongs the blast from Cormorin's southern shore; 

The royal flag at Aden's lonely post. 

Salutes the peal from India's far-off coast ; 

Around the dusky continent it flies. 

And St. Helena's lonely isle replies; 

Cyprus to Malta sends the message west. 

It leaps in fire from gray Gibraltar's crest; 

O'er Windsor's stately keep the standard's fold 

Reflects the western sunset's red and gold. 

Low sinks the sun, the royal flag is furled. 

Rich with a benison from round the world. 

Our fathers, old and worn. 
Tell of that summer morn 
When in the gray old Abbey fair attended, 
The new-crowned Maiden Queen, 
Amid the joyous scene, 
192 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

With tear-dimmed eyes and meek head lowly bended, 
The sceptre in her trembling hands extended. 

And standing- by her side, 

Our fathers' joy and pride, 
The war-worn hero of a hundred battlefields 
With graceful homage to her queendom yields. 
Princely in reverence, peerless among peers, 
By peaceful victories crowned in later years, 

Wliat memories of that day 

When, at far-famed Assaye, 
He w'on an empire for the land he loved so well. 
Crowd on our sires who on his glory dwell! 
Iberia's fertile plains repeat his name, 
And Waterloo exalts the hero's fame! 
Type of the Briton, loyal, brave and true: 
O Queen, who such a kingly subject knew, 

Whose simple creed was Duty's own, 

His God. his country and the throne — 
Thrice happy thou, with such true-hearted guide — 
Britannia's hope, sustained by Britain's pride! 

As one who scales a sun-lit height. 

Which holds the gloaming on its breast, 
And lingers in the reddening light 

Awhile for retrospect and rest; 
So. from the vantage ground of years, 

We may recall the scenes long past. 
And see how old-time loyal hopes 

To full fruition grow at last. 

Our fathers in the Maiden Queen 

Saw promise of the nation's youth; 
The herald of a nobler age 

Which strives for righteousness and truth ; 
193 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

O'er the wide earth Peace reigned serene, 
The cruel scars of war had healed, 

And Science, Commerce, Art and Law, 
Unhampered, saw a glorious field. 

And whose the pen can fitly trace 

The record of these fifty years? 
The triumphs freedom has achieved. 

Beyond our fathers' hopes and fears. 
Mercy and Justice met with Law, 

And shaped its course toward the light ; 
( )ur fathers saw the dawning, we 

Are ncaring to the noontide bright. 

Fair Science took the field, and made 

Steam captive of her potent will ; 
She spanned the ocean's farthest bound 

With triumphs of her subtle skill. 
She linked each nation's pulsing life. 

And i)enned each throb of grief or mirth. 
And gave her sister Connuerce power 

To gather tribute from all earth. 

Who names our Queen the title gives 

To Art and Letters, brightest age, 
Transcending all in wealth of lore 

Of singer, savant, saint and sage. 
Brightest of all, this age has seized 

The storied wealth of ages past; 
The wisdom of the centuries fled 

Is our rich heritage at last. 

Yet he who marks the flying years 
Rich in their victories of Peace, 

Might fear the sturdier manhood gone. 
Were war's rude discipline to cease. 
194 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

'Mid Russian snows, on Indian plains, 
The sons their fathers' deeds repeat, 

And steel-clad ships bear tars as bold 
As "hearts of oak" of Nelson's fleet. 



O sceptred isle, set in the silver sea. 

An empire's throne, between whose jewelled feet 
The current of the teeming world divides, 

And the tumultuous seas in triumph meet! 
Mother of empires' whose strong- children bear 

The regal marks that test their stately birth; 
Reaching out stalwart arms to either pole, 

To cultivate, subdue and bless the earth ! 

The centre to the empire's utmost bound 

Repeats her loyal benison to-day ; 
"Long may she reign," our Britain's Mother Queen! 

Ruling our subject hearts with gentle sway. 
She, with white flowers of purity and peace. 

And stainless life, has garlanded the throne; 
Linking the grace and pomp of stately courts 

With loftier, purer virtues of the home. 

"Long may she reign!" and in the tide of years. 

When comes the time to change the earthly crown; 
When at the sunmions of tlie King of kings, 

The dear white hand shall lay the sceptre down, — 
May God wipe from her eyes the mist of tears 

A husband, son and daughter hides from sight, 
And lead her gently through the gate of life, 

To wear a fadeless crown in realms of light. 



195 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



1886. 



l*"ill hiy:h each glass — Up brothers, all! 

The toast, "Our Queen!" — long may she reign!" 
Our Queen. The thousand leagues of sea 

Our true afifections bridge again. 
Deep in our hearts the love of home 

Survives all change of time and place; 
And ties of kin this glorious day 

Shall weaker memories efface. 

Drink deep! Let none mistake us here! 

Though changing months have brought the time 
When treason at a premium stands 

And loyalty is deemed a crime. 
When a great party cringes low 

To seek applause from alien lips, 
And meekly bends a servile back 

As target for the rcbeFs whips. 

Pledge we our glorious native isle. 

Queen of the stormy northern seas. 
What though the storm clouds seem to lower, 

'Tis but a passing party breeze. 
With patriot pilots at the helm. 

Who brook no alien counsels near. 
The darkening clouds shall harmless pass — 

Only her enemies shall fear. 



196 



SLINGS J.\7) .IRROIVS 

'riiank (lod, that liij^li above all strife. 

Above the lust for place and power. 
Our l)ritain's throne remains secure, 

L'ntouched by passions of the hour. 
Thous^^h warrins;- storms reach middle heit^ht, 

I'eyond there it can never rise. 
Where in the sunshine of our love 

The throne is set amid the skies. 

Our orandsires in the maiden Queen 

Saw happy promise of her youth. 
The symbol of a nobler age 

Of right and purity and truth. 
We realize their full desires. 

We know not of their doubts and fears. 
We happy heritors of ginxl. 

From out these jjotent fifty years. 



Jit. O'- J»- 



I08 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



*' Che Queen ! 6od Bless Rer ! '* 



(Road at British Charitable Society's Anniversary Dinnei 
May 24, 1883.) 

"The Queen! God bless her!" Once again 

We here repeat the loyal toast; 
The Queen! who here of British birth 

But makes such loyalty his boast? 
The Queen who rules by right Divine 

Of freemen's wills, deserves acclaim; 
The Queen! God grant her long to reign. 

And still our loyal greeting claim. 

Our hearts reach out to those who raise 

In our old home the loyal strain; 
A thousand leagues of stormy sea 

Our recollections bridge again; 
We see the daisy-spangled mead, 

The hedgerows white with hawthorn bloom; 
Or from some furze-clad moor we breathe 

The purple heather's rich perfume. 

High in the air the lark's clear notes 
Above a thousand song-birds' rise; 
Or perhaps some ivy-mantled tower 

Looms through the luist of moistened eyes; 
For home is where our kindred sleep. 
The sweet, sad spot of mother earth 
Which holds within its hallowed breast 
The sacred ones who gave us birth. 
109 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

lUit here let no sad thought intrude, 

To-day our hearts beat high witli pride; 
Here we repeat the loyal wish 

The winds have carried far and wide — 
Far as the circling seas can bear 

Our hardy brothers o'er their crest, 
Wide as the circuit of the sun. 

From gorgeous East to glowing West, 

The North wind speeds the message forth 

It breathes from far-oflf Orient seas; 
The South wind bears a kindred hail 

From out the far Antipodes; 
Westward from Egypt's thirsty sands 

The loyal feu-de-joie is borne, 
I'Vom those whose sturdy shout uprose 

On Tel-el-Kebir's ruddy morn. 

O, Mother England! still thy sons 

Are proof to meet thy high desires. 
To men of grosser blood are copy yet, 

And worthy offspring of their war-proof sires. 
The "thin red-line'' which outside foes repel, 

The inner line of blue that guards the home; 
Tn their right arms and in thy peojile's love, 

Safe from all ill, securely stands the throne. 

God bless the Queen! God bless our native land 

God bless our home, wherever that may be! 
Whether beneath the glorious starry flag, 

Or 'neath St. George's cross beyond the sea. 
Long may the kindred Hags in triumph wave. 

And stars and cross become the source of liglil 
Growing in splendor till the glorious sun 

Of liberty shall all the world unite. 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



JMarcia C3recn'9 jMistahe. 



The moral sense of JMeadowville was outraged al- 
most beyond expression. 

It did not lack expression, or I might have omitted 
the qualifying "almost.'' 

On the contrary, the exponents of the moral sense 
of Meadowville, while declaring that it fairly took their 
breath away, found plenty of the same breath with 
which to air their views of the terrible shock to the 
community. 

It wasn't much of a rown, by the way, but its sense 
of propriety and the fitness of things was out of all 
proportion to its size. The '"moral sense" of Meadow- 
ville was big enough for New York City. Some idea 
of its pressure per square inch may present itself to 
mathematical minds when they are informed that 
Meadowville could only boast of about two-score 
houses, rallying around, as if in self-defense, the 
Meadowville Four Corners, where the store, post- 
office, churches and school were situated. 

Such a thing had never been known before. Miss 
Marcia Green, principal of the Meadowville school, 
was especially hurt, and, as representing the moral 
sense of the village educational system, she might have 
spoken her mind fearlessly, but did not, for some rea- 
son. 

I am inclined to think that Deacon Jones' wife con- 
sidered herself the representative and spokeswoman of 
Meadowville's feelings. 

She was sitting in Miss Marcia's room, enjoying a 
social cup of tea, as well as her outraged feelings would 



SUXGS AXD ARROWS 

allow. The soothinc^ herb did not seem to soothe par- 
ticularly well. Miss Marcia pushed her half-empty 
cup from her and settled back in her chair with a weary 
sio^h. 

r*"or years, the town records tell how many, but I 
will not — she had taught the young idea how to shoot, 
and never in her experience had such a blow fallen 
upon the community as that which its "moral sense" 
now staggered under. 

Mrs. Jones responded to the sigh with another, so 
exquisitely modulated as to be at once a corroborative 
expression of sympathy, and a preparation for a full 
consideration of the subject which had grieved the 
good people of Meadowville. 

"I tell you, Marcia, vou might ha" knocked me 
down with a feather when Amandy Jane told me as 
she had seen him a-riding up to the Corners with her; 
and it's not twelve-month till next Saturday week sence 
Mrs. Welby — a mother in Israel, Marcia, if ever there 
was one, and a pattern of piety and lover of good 
works — was laid in her grave. And she is not more 
than twenty-two, I'll vow!" 

"Twenty-three," quietly corrected Miss Marcia. 
She was not disposed to do injustice. 

"Well twenty-three."' said ^Irs. Jones, quickly. 
"And he'll never see fifty again."' 

"Forty-eight, last Thanksgiving," sighed the 
scrupulously-correct schoolmistress. 

"What does it matter?"' said Mrs. Jones, half ir- 
ritably. "Forty-eight and twenty-three! My gracious! 
and she is not a church member, and for all we know 
not even a believer. And he has been a deacon 
of the church for years, and yet despises the word 
which warns against une(jually yoking with unbe- 
lievers." 

202 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Miss Marcia sighed. 

"And there's Ahiiira Crosby, and Cynthy Allen, 
and I don't know how many, as would have made hin^ 
a helpmeet, if he had seen fit to need one, and could 
no longer bear his cross alone. Any of them would 
have looked after his household, bring-ing- up his 
children in the nurtur" and admonition of the Lord. 
But he goes to Boston to fetch a town girl as knows 
nothing of our life, and has had no experience, to enter 
into his household. O, Marcia, I fear for the future 
of those children! It's enough to make poor Martha 
Welby rise in judgment agin him." 

"I have done my whole duty in the matter, I am 
persuaded," said Miss Marcia, quietly. "Ever since 
the motherless children have been in my care I have 
tried to impress upon them the duties and obligations 
of their daily life; many an hour have I devoted to 
those children, teaching "em the way they should go, 
so that when they were old they should not depart 
from it." 

"Mr. Jones he called on Si Welby only yesterday 
evening, and tried, in a brotherly way. to tell him how 
his conduct was regarded." 

"Did he?" said Miss Marcia, with more interest 
than she had hitherto shown. "And what did he — Mr. 
Welby — say?" 

"Oh, my dear Marcia," said the good Mrs. Jones, 
"I scarcely care to repeat it; and he a church member, 
and a leader in the meeting! He told Jones, says he, 
*Jim, you and I have been neighbors and friends for 
years,' he says. 'Stop right where you are. I want no 
one's advice and will tolerate no man's criticism. I 
know talk will come. Let it be from the old women 
and old maid's cackle.' Yes, my dear Marcia, 'old 
maids' cackle.' 'I expect the men to have more sense. 

203 



SUNCS ./A7) .Ik'k'OirS 

I marrv to please myself, and vou can mincl voiir own 
business.' And he a church member," repeated Mrs. 
Jones, as if that were the chief offence of all. 

"It is his own business," said Miss Marcia, "l)ut it's 
shocking- to think of it. There's poor Grace W'elby; 
how my heart goes out to that poor girl, now rudely 
thrust aside for a stranger." 

"Eh, but that ain't so," said Mrs. Jones, eagerly. 
In a sly way she seemed anxious to antagonize Marcia 
all the while. "That ain't so. Grace is well pleased. 
She says as the children will be better cared for than 
before, and won't listen to no word agin her step- 
mother — and she only a year or two younger!" ex- 
claimed Mrs. Jones, indignantly. 

"I did not think it of Grace," said Miss Marcia 
Green. "I really did not. Only last Sunday I called 
on her after meeting, and she seemed so glad to see 
mc." 

"Yet vou were no stranger; every1)ody knows how 
you have ministered to that sick gal since her mother 
died," said Mrs. Jones, significantl}'. 

"I have tried to do my duty," nuu-nuired Miss 
Marcia. 

"And thrown your pearls before — lor, me, I was 
going to say suthin' unfit then," said Mrs. Deacon 
Jones. "I really think as W'elby ought to have seen 
how much your presence was a help to that poor af- 
flicted gal, and have seen his duty better." 

"What duty?" murmured Miss Marcia. 

"What lied right afore him," said Mrs. Jones. "He 
ought to have appreciated you. and he would have 
foiuid a sympathizin' Christian helper."' 

Miss Green was silent. She did not betray even by 
a sigh how her esteemed friend was torturing her. 

"It seems," said Mrs. lones, watching her com- 
204 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

panion's face, "as if he had been wilfully blind to where 
the hand of the Lord was a-leading him. Oh, Marcia, 
I am sorry for him ! I am, indeed." 

"You had better tell him so," said the schoolmis- 
tress, trying- to force a smile. She did not propose to 
let Mrs. Jones peck at her wounded heart, though she 
was bitterly disappointed. 

"I must go," said Mrs. Jones, a little disappointed, 
too, that she had not been more successful in worry- 
ing her companion; "but I forgot to tell you how that 
I hear Welby is going to have his friends around him 
to 'introduce his new wife.' Will you go?" 

"I don't know," murmured Miss Marcia, faintly. 
"I will try to do as seems right. But when I think of 
those little children in the hands of such a young 
woman, I am grieved to the heart." 

And with a farewell kiss, Mrs. Deacon Jones de- 
parted, having done a good evening's work in tortur- 
ing her dear friend. 

Miss Marcia Green returned to her little room, and 
gave vent to her long pent-up feelings. God alone 
knows what a struggle it was to her, and how bravely 
she conquered her disappointment. 

A knock at the door aroused her. She was not well 
fitted to have company, but she rose and admitted a 
visitor, and her voice betrayed no evidence of her re- 
cent emotion. 

"It's never you, Mr. Welby!" she said, as the burly 
figure of Si Welby stood in the little hall. "I never ex- 
pected to see you this evening. How is Grace?" 

''Grace is better," said Welby. "I hope she will 
continue to improve, and I think I have gone the right 
way about it at last." 

"I hope so," said the schoolmistress; "the poor 
child has suflfered long." 

205 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"You see, Marcia, she needs constant care and at- 
tention. The doctor told me " 

"But, mercy on me, don't stand there in the luill- 
way, when there's a comfortable fire to sit by, and the 
weather is cold enough to freeze one to death!"' 

"I will come in," said Si, removing his wraps, and 
kicking ofT a pair of huge rubl)er boots, preparatory 
to moving into Miss Green's cozy little parlor. "Ancj. 
I don't mind if I do have a cup of tea," he added, hesi- 
tatingly. 

Miss ]\[arcia hastily poured him out a cup, which 
he drank with evident relish. 

"Eh! that goes to the right spot, as the boys say. 
It is cold outdoors, to be sure. But, as I was saying 
about Grace, she needs such care and attention as I 
could not give her. Besides the dear girl was worried 
with the cares of the household, and could not have 
the rest. I did think of sending her to a hospital in 
Boston, where she could have the care she wanted ; but 
she did not want to go, and I went to Boston myself." 

"Yes," murmured Miss Marcia. 

"And so," said Si, spreading himself before the 
open fire that seemed so pleasant in the little room, "I 
went to Boston myself, and the doctors said that mebbe 
if I could get some experienced nurse or person used 
to such cases, I might be able to keep Grace to home, 
and yet secure her care. And he says that's all she 
needs; time will do all the rest. She is young, and will 
in a few months be strong again.'' 

"It is a great mercy," said Miss Green. 

"ft is, indeed. Marshy. Now, how was I to do? It 
would break Grace's heart to go away from the little 
ones, and I knew there was one as she had known and 
loved when she was first taken to the hospital — after 
she was thrown from the carriage, you know; a young 

206 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

nurse as had tended on her devotedly, and of whom 
she was mighty fond.'' 

Si Welby seemed a Httle embarrassed. Miss Marcia 
was no less uncomfortable, but she gave no sign. Any- 
way she was going to have the story first hand, and 
that was a consolation — a poor one, to be sure, but 
better than nothing. 

"I went to Boston the next day, after turning the 
thing over in my mind, and I says to the doctor, says 
I, 'I would like to see the young lady as tended on 
Grace before. Mebbe she wouldn't mind comin' to 
Meadowville, if all is right?' 

"And the doctor looked up, and says he, 'You're a 
widower, ain't you?' and I says, 'yes.' If Martha had 
been living I shouldn't be wanted to come on this 
errand." 

"No, indeed," said Miss Marcia. 

"The doctor says, 'We will see Miss Dawson. If 
she likes to go with you I can't gainsay it,' he says. 
'P)Ut I don't want to lose her, for she is a great help to 
me.' 

"I want her to be a help to me," I says. "I want 
my poor motherless girl to have the best care I can 
get, and how I can do better than have the one she 
knowed and loved before?" 

"It took an awful deal of persuading." said Welby, 
getting more and more embarrassed. "I didn't think 
as how it would be any trouble at all till I saw the 
young lady. But I finally won her consent, and I 
don't mind saying that I felt myself the happiest man 
in Boston when I got her over to come and take care 
of Gracie and the household. They need more than I 
have been able to give them." 

"I hope Grace will improve,'' said Miss Marcia. 
"It seems as if you had been led to do the right thing." 

207 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"I know I have," said Wclby, "but hang nie — " he 
s])oke with an energy that startled the prim Httle 
schoolnia'rm — "if all the old women of both sexes in 
Meadowville ain't beginning to cackle as if I had done 
something wrong. Old Jones comes down to me, and 
sez he, 'Brother Welby, are you sure as you are right,' 
sez he, 'in making this attachment? Marriage,' sez he, 
'is honorable, yet not to be lightly entered into, but,' 
he sez, "the apostle earnestly entreated the church 
members not to be unequally yoked with unbelievers.' 
And that young woman sitting there with her face 
afire, and Jones a leering at her as if to say, 'That's 
meant for you, ma"rm!' I tells him if I marry I do it 
to please myself, not him, nor the village. What do 
you say, Marcia?" 

"That's right," nuirmured the school teacher, "quite 
right." 

Poor little soul! She was having a hard time of it. 
Mrs. Jones was scarcely less merciless than Si Welby, 
but his good-natured face showed no signs of malice. 

"But the old fool — I can't help it, even if it is a 
danger to call a brother a fool — indicated the way 
things were going. And so, after the house was quiet, 
I thought I'd come up and explain things like, so that 
they may be clear." 

"It was very kind," said Marcia, faintly, "but why 
didn't you bring Mrs. Welby?" 

"Mrs. who?" 

"Gracious, Si Welby, what is the matter?"' 

Si was laughing uproariously, and the hearty ])eal 
fairly shook the little room. 

"Matter? Thunder! I see how the cat jumps at 
last. The only Mrs. Welby died a twelvemonth ago." 

Miss Marcia Green looked absolutely stunned. 
She eyed Si Welby as if she feared he had gone crazy. 

208 



SLTNGS AND ARROWS 

It really did not look unlike it. He was still laughing, 
and holding his sides with the pain of his exercise. 

"Poor Martha, too; it's a shame to be a-laughing 
over her grave, as it were. But T ain't a-doing her 
wrong in looking after our little girl as she should be, 
am I, Marcia?" 

"No," said Marcia, feeling that a great load had 
been lifted from her heart. 

"It is easier to say what I come for than I thought. 
Grace is now well cared for, but I want a helpmeet, for 
the other children need care. I came to ask you if 
you would be my wife." 

Miss Marcia burst into tears. It was an absolute 
relief to her after the strain on her feelings since Mrs. 
Jones' advent. 

Si looked astonished, but he took her unresisting 
hand. 

"It ain't, I hope, a cause for weeping." he said. 
"Ain't it been plain to you afore?" 

"I thought so," said Miss Marcia, between her 
sobs, "but Mrs. Jones said 3'ou had gone to Boston and 
married the nurse." 

"Mrs. Jones is as big a fool as her husband," said 
Si. "But never mind them. What do you say?" 

Wliat should Miss Marcia do but give the right 
answer? 

And they ratified the agreement on the spot. 

The moral sense of the community of Meadowville, 
at latest accounts, is in a fair way of recovery. Mrs. 
Marcia Welbv takes a diflferent view of things to-dav. 



209 



•e^ 



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FOR THE CHILDREN. 
mamma's story. 
\\'ill the robin come again, 

l\ol)l)ie with his coat of brown, 
I With hi.s iiretty scarlet vest, 

Xow tiiat all the leaves are down? 
Did he take a maple leaf 

lUu'.ied bright red by summer sun, 
And within his pretty nest 
Mak'j the gay vest he has onV 

'Pretty i)rattler, yes; the spring 

Will bring back the flowers and leaves, 
Miinmei, with its crown of blossoms, 

.Autumn, with its golden sheaves; 
Hut liow Robbie got his vest 

Manuua heard a little story, 
.\uil the Robin's breast of red 

Is the l)irdie's mark of glory. 

Wlien tlie loving Jesus wore 

]'^)r our sakes the crown of thorn, 
liound and scourged, abused, reviled, 

Aiul tlie cruel ci-oss was borne, 
One sharp thorn had pierced His head, 

.\ud the V)lood A\as flowing down. 
l)Ut a robin drew the thorn, 

i')ving red his breast so brown. 



-^ 






In the Valley of 
the Shadow 



" He opens and He s/ntts His hand, 
But m/iy, we cannot understand ; 
Pours out and dries His mercies'' flood 
And yet is still All- Perfect God!' 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Re Opens and T>c Shuts Ris Rand. 



'The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be 
the name of the Lord." 



The Lord hath given! Praise the Lord! 

O Father, what are we, who stand 
With Hps unused to grateful praise. 

For this great blessing from Thy hand! 
The Lord hath given bounteously, 

Earth's deserts fill with rippling streams; 
As light upon our darkened minds 

His never-failing goodness gleams. 

The Lord hath given! To our home 

Has come a blessing from the skies; 
And little speech our lips can frame. 

While grateful tears suffuse our eyes. 
Our language fails to voice our joy; 

We only may repeat the word 
Which rises from our surcharged hearts — 

"The Lord hath eiven; bless the Lord." 



The Lord hath taken! 'Neath the snow 

We lay our loved away to rest; 
We cannot see with grief-dimmed eyes, 

And aching heart within each breast. 
That God hath taken. 'Twas too soon; 

Our joy, our hope, we scarcely knew; 
The wintry frost had killed the flower 

Before its fulness came to view. 
213 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

The Lord hath taken! To His rest 

He called the gentle spirit hence; 
He filled the eyes with scenes divine, 

He touched the lips with love intense; 
Till eyes and lips had told the tale 

Of hope supreme to those on earth, 
And angels bore the angel child 

To find its new and perfect birth. 

The Lord hath taken! Bless the Lord! 

The Lord who takes, the Lord who gives! 
We would not see, with heads bent low, 

That he who died yet surely lives. 
Till God had wiped our tear-dimmed eyes 

Our rebel lips refused the word, — 
"The Lord hath given bounteously; 

The Lord hath taken. Bless the Lord !" 



214 



SUNGS AXD ARROWS 

CKith Cear-Dimiricd Byes. 



(A Letter to a Friend.) 

Is death the end, that we should mourn 
For those whoVe lately left our side; 

And can the knell, the pall, the bier, 
The open grave, our love divide? 

In the first cry of stricken hearts, 
The answer comes: "It is the end;"' 

The voice is hushed, and cold the hand. 
Of her, the ever-faithful friend; 

Whose feet were swift at Mercy's call, 
Whose hands were full of gracious aid; 

Whose eyes with kindly pity poured, 

Where sorrows pressed or cares dismayed. 

We stand beside the flower-strewn bier, 
In bitter grief our heads we bend; 

And still repeat the wailing note, 

"Death breaks our loves; it is the end." 

Around our feet the flowers still bloom. 
All radiant in their Autumn prime, 

Yet doomed to fade 'neath Winter's breath. 
The piercing hail, the frosty rime. 

But Spring will come, and, with new life 
Aroused, each bud will greet the sun ; 

Is Death the end? Ah, friend, by death 
True life is only well begun. 
215 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

We daily die, who look around 
And see the vacant places here; 

They live, and know no sense of loss, 
Whose eyes shall never know a tear. 

For "God shall wipe away all tears," 
What that means we can only know. 

When we can look with undimmed eyes. 
From which all tears have ceased to flow. 

I see through mists of blinding tears, 
The stretching of a little hand; 

My ears hear yet a loving voice 

Now joining with the Saviour's band. 

And I shall see the little hand, 

Which now is shadowed to my sight, 

When God shall wipe away all tears. 
That come between me and His light. 

Yet tears will come; ''My son! My son!"- 

I cannot help the bitter cry; 
And you, dear friend, so hard bereft, 

Will not my sympathy deny. 

God sendeth sun. He sendeth shower; 

The sterile drought, the tempest rain; 
And shall we thankless take the good. 

Nor bear with fortitude the pain? 

No; though with sense of burning loss. 
We can but tearful vigils keep, 

We trust our loved ones to His care. 
Who "giveth His beloved sleep." 
216 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



jMors 'Janua Yitae. 



I know my boy, my only son, is dead; 

Dead. Yes, I think I understand; 
I saw him die. I closed his little eyes 

And gently on his breast replaced his hand, — 
That hand, which sought my own, as if to gain, 
From my weak grasp, some power to soothe Death's 
pain. 

I saw him laid beneath the snow to rest. 

And earth to earth I saw them pile each clod, — 

All that was mortal placed within the grave. 
I heard them say : "His spirit is with God." 

But is God chary, then, of good to men, 

That He so soon requires His own again? 

And yet I know not what is meant by death: 
Is it to rise above all thought of earth, 

To see celestial visions, and to hear 
The angels joying o'er a heavenly birth ; 

Their victor shouts when conquered Death shall bring 

Earth choicest gems as jewels for their King? 

Is it to watch the glorious gates unfold, 
To feel secure from all of earthly harms. 

To see the dear Redeemer's beaming smile, 
And feel the welcome of His loving arms, 

Still wide extended, as they were of old, 

To "such as these" who enter in the fold? 

217 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

If this be death, then truly death is hfe. 
And our child lives within that happy land. 

We are the clods who wait Death's (juick'ning- touch 
Ere we again shall grasp that little hand, 

Which now is God's own giiide to lead cnir feet 

By Jesus' favor, to His mercy seat. 



Row the Christmas Hnthem Cdas Sung. 



''Hark the herald angels sing ! " 

Thus the sweet old anthem raise. 
Children round the fireside gathered, 

Lisp the Christmas hymn of praise. 
How the grand old carol swells. 

On their pure clear voices borne. 
Echoes of the heavenly strain 

Sung on that first Christmas morn! 

But a chord of sadness lingers, 

In the children's joyous strain, 
And the parents' eyes are filling. 

With the drops of tender rain. 
One voice fails to swell the chorus. 

One is missing from the fold. 
And the anthem lacks the fulness 

Of the precious days of old. 

One estranged, but not forg-otten, 
Long- forgiven, wandering far; 

Is the sign of love forgotten, — 
Love, that beckons like the star 
218 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

Which the Eastern magi followed 
Tin they found its inner hght. 

In that stable, poor and lowly, 
On that primal Christmas night? 

Rut the children's joyous carol, 

Has to them no sorrowing sound : 
"Peace on earth, good ivill fj-oni Heaven, 

Reaching far as man is found ! " 
Thus the grand celestial message 

Once again its echoes form; 
Borne upon their pure young voices, 

Out upon the winter storm. 

Hark! a footstep at the door, — 

Cheerless blows the winter wind, 
Offer welcome; on this day, 

Who should not an entrance find? 
Hoping against hope, yet hoping. 

As she opens wide the door. — 
'Tis the wanderer, home returning. 

In his mother's arms once more! 

How the anthem is illumined 

By the brightness spread around, 
"Souls redeemed and sins forgii'eti, 

Loud our golden harps shall sounds 
Christmas finds us reunited, 

For no missing ones we sigh, — 
"Glory in the highest, glory. 

Glory be to God most high ! " 



219 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Che I^igbt Cotnetb. 



I.ct mc lie down and gently sink to rest, 
While yet the sun's last beams are in the west; 
Lord, when my day is over, let me sleep, 
Nor wait till midnight gloom shall o'er me creep. 

As the tired laborer lays his weary head 
With grateful sense of rest upon his bed. 
So let me pass away. I dare not keep 
Night's lonely vigil — suffer me to sleep; 

Not linger here to see each friend depart. 
And wait for kindly Death; with aching heart 
To count the graves of those I loved, and feel 
The senile touch of age upon me steal. 

I long for light; Lord, when the night draws near. 
Show me the light in which shall be no fear; 
When my brief day is over let me rise 
To meet the new dawn in the heavenly skies. 

And yet "they serve who only stand and wait," 
Amid the gloom of age outside Thy gate; 
Thy will, not mine, be done, without reserve; 
In youth or age, Lord, teach me how to serve. 



220 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



^^Cabo follows?^' 



Out on the crowded street, 

In the gloom of a misty night, 
A radiance from the church-porch streamed 

In flood of gleaming light. 
High rose the pealing organ's swell, 

Each note a reminiscent strain, 
And with the cross borne high before, ■* 

Was seen the white-robed choral train. 

"The Son of God goes forth to war," 

Rang out the boyish voices clear; 
A stranger, idly gazing, starts 

As fall the words upon his ear. 
Quick through his mind in eager flood 

A tide of tender memories passed. 
Bridging a thousand leagues of sea 

To show his boyhood home at last. 

But while the tide of memory pours. 

The white-robed lads have passed before, 
The manlier voices of the choir 

Pour out the melody once more. 
In loftier notes the challenge rings! 
The pleading yet defiant strain — 
"The Son of God goes forth to war . . . 
Who follows in His train?" 

"Follow!" How many weary years 

Had seen him stray from Church and God! 

"Follow!" — 'twas where the parents led. 
The road his boyish steps had trod. 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 

"Who follows?" As he knelt, his heart 
Echoed the choir's appealing- strain — 

"O God, to me let g^race be g-iven 
To follow in His train !*' 



C>>prc98 and Laurel. 



They made him earl, they showered their gifts 
On him, their hero, victor, almost king; 
They added to the medals on his breast 
And cried in triumph, "Let us laurel bring!'' 

Then went they forth with joyous steps to pluck 
A wreath of laurel on Fame's noble way, 
And swift returning placed it on his brow; — 
Lo ! They but crowned him with a cypress spray ! 

Then filled their eyes with tears, their trembling lips 
Dared not to utter what their hearts had thought: 
"Cypress and amaranth have decked his life, 
Our joy is barren, and his honors naught!" 

They looked far out across the misty deep. 
Where on Colenso's field his son finds rest. 
And saw the laurels blooming o'er his head, 
Sown in his blood, and by their own love blest. 

Then back they turned once more to his brave sire, 
Hearts beating proudly for the deed sublime. 
The cypress his, the laurel for the son, — 
An empire's love for both throughout all time. 

Josephine D. Perry. 



SLINGS AND ARROWS 



Hn 6piloguc — Good-Bye. 



Our little play is ended, and, above our heads, 
Ready to fall, is seen the envious screen, 

And we, the actors, grouping for the tableau 
Wait but the epilogue to close the scene. 

'Tis hard to part. When friend's looks unto friend. 

And but reflects the echo of his fears, 
When clasped hands and lips that only quiver 

Respond to eyes fast glistening with tears; 

It matters not what form of words we use — 
Lips ill interpret what the heart hath spoken, 

Yet gladly would we whisper "Au Revoir" 

Than "farewell," now our fellowship is broken. 

Yet like we best the good old Saxon phrase. 

Which, in the days when men found time to share 

Each others' pain, was not the brief "Good-bye," 
But "God be wnth you" was the parting prayer. 

vSo would we say: "To all whose help 
Has brought us nearer our desired end. 

To all whose thoughts have breathed upon our page 
Or thought, expressed in action, proved the friend ; 

Whose presence cheered, whose kindly counsel aided, 
Who proved their love by kindly care and deed; 

May "God be with you" ever in this life — 
May "God be with you" in your utmost need. 
223 



Jnnd - 8 l^Ol 



MAY 29 190 



